A  BUTTERFLY 
ON  THE  WHEEL 


C. RANGER  GULL 


^ 


Digitized  by  tlie  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2007  witli  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcli  ive.org/details/butterflyonwlieelOOgulliala 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 


"Forgive  me,  George,"  she  sobbed,  "forgive  me. 


A  BUTTERFLY 

ON 

THE  WHEEL 

A  Novel 


By  c.  ranger  gull 

Author  of  "A  Woman  in  the  Case"  etc. 


Founded  on  the  successful  play  by  E.  G.  Hemmerde,  K.  C, 
M.  P^  and  Francis  Neilson.  M.  P. 


WITH  PHOTOGRAPHS  FROM  THE  PLAY 


NEW  YORK 

WILUAM  RICKEY  &  COMPANY 

1912 


Copyris;fatcd  191^  by 
WILUAM  RICKEY  &  COMPANY 


FKESS    OF   WIIXIAH    G.    HEWITT,   61-67    NAVY    ST.,    BSOOKLVN,    N.    Y. 


ORIGINAL  PROGRAM 

OF 

A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Produced  at  the  39th  Street  Theatre,  beginning 
Tuesday  Evening,  January  9tb,  1912 


MR.  LEWIS  WALLER 

Has  the  Honor  to  Submit 


A  Butterfly  on  the  Wheel 

By  Edward  G.  Hemmerde,  K.  C,  and  Francis  Neilson,  M.  P. 
Produced  under  the  penonal  supervision  o(  Lewis  Waller 


The  Rt.  Hon.  George  Admaston,  M.  P Eille  Norwood 

Roderick  Collingwood Charles  Quartermainc 

Lord  Ellerdine Evelyn  Beerbohm 

Sir  John  Burroughes,  President  of  the  Divorce  Court, 

Herbert  Budd 

Sir  Robert  Fyflfe,  K.  C,  M.  P.,  Admaston's  leading  counsel, 

Sidney  Valentine 

Gervaise  McArthur,  K.  C,  Collingwood's  leading  counsel, 

Lewis  Broughton 
Stuart  Menzies,  K.  C,  Collingwood's  leading  counsel, 

Denis  Cleugh 
Jacques,  waiter  at  the  Hotel  des  Tuileries. .  .Walter  Cluxton 

Jean  DuBois,  detective John  Wilmer 

Foreman  of  the  jury James  Stuart 

Footman Frank  Dossert 

Lady  Attwill Olive  Temple 

Pauline,  Miss  Admaston's  maid Loretta  Wells 

Ptggy>  George  Admaston's  wife Madge  Titheradge 


General  Manager Victor  Lewis 

Business  Manager John  Wilmer 

Stage  Manager Lewis  Broughton 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Forgive  me,  George,"  she  sobbed,  "forgive  me".  FrotUisfitect 

Facing  Patg^e 
"We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train  and  we  all  stayed 

the  night  at  this  hotel" 95 

"D<xi't  you  see,  man,  if  you  call  in  the  court  to 

break  her  wings,  you'll  only  drire  her  to  me!"  120 

"He  caught  her  in  his  arms — in  his  strong  arms".  240 


04i  ocrooA 


PREFACE 

OF  all  the  English  plays  that  have  come  to  this  country 
none  has  created  more  of  a  sensation  than  "A 
BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL,"  and  without  question 
will  be  received  the  same  by  the  public  over  the  entire 
country  as  it  has  been  received  in  New  York.  The  play 
opened  at  the  Thirty-ninth  Street  Theatre  on  Tuesday 
evening,  January  9th,  and  has  played  to  "standing  room 
only"  at  every  performance  since. 

The  story  in  book  form  has  been  done  by  C.  Ranger 
Gull  (pen  name),  a  writer  who  has  already  gained  a  big 
reputation  as  an  author  both  in  America  and  England,  and 
the  success  of  **A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL"  goes  without 
saying. 

THE  PUBLISHER. 


(44i^  ^^y^-^^?fo^^^ 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE 
WHEEL 


CHAPTER  I 

It  was  shortly  after  midnight  in  the  great  Hotel 
des  Tuileries  at  Paris. 

Beyond  the  facade  of  the  hotel  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries  were  sleeping  in  the  warm  night.  To 
the  left  the  Louvre  etched  itself  in  solid  black  against 
the  sky,  and  all  up  and  down  the  Rue  de  Rivoli 
carriages  and  automobiles  were  still  moving. 

But  in  the  great  thoroughfare  the  tide  of  vehicles 
and  foot  passengers  was  perceptibly  thinning.  Paris 
is  a  midnight  city,  it  is  true,  and  at  this  hour  the 
heights  of  Montmartre  were  thronged  with  pleasure- 
seekers,  dancing  and  supping  till  the  pale  dawn 
should  come  with  its  message  of  purity  and  re- 
proach. 

But  down  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  even  the  great 
hotels  were  beginning  to  prepare  for  sleep. 

One  enters  the  Hotel  des  Tuileries,  as  every  one 
I 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEU 

knows,  through  the  revolving  doors,  passes  into  the 
entresol,  and  then  into  the  huge  glass-domed  lounge 
with  its  comfortable  fauteuils,  its  big  settee,  its  little 
tables  covered  with  beaten  copper,  and  its  great 
palms,  which  seem  as  if  they  had  been  cunningly 
enamelled  jade-green  by  some  jeweller. 

The  lounge  was  now  almost  empty  of  people, 
though  the  shaded  electric  light  threw  a  topaz- 
coloured  radiance  over  everything. 

In  one  corner — just  where  the  big  marble  stair- 
case springs  upwards  to  the  gilded  gallery — ^two 
men  in  evening  dress  were  sitting  together. 

They  were  obviously  English,  tall,  thin,  bronzed 
men,  as  obviously  in  the  service.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  one  was  Colonel  Adams,  attached  to  the  Vice- 
roy's staff  in  India,  the  other  a  civilian's  secretary 
— Henry  Passhe. 

They  were  both  smoking  briar  pipes — delighted 
that  the  lateness  of  the  hour  allowed  them  to  do  so 
in  the  lounge;  and  before  each  man  was  a  long 
glass  full  of  crushed  ice  and  some  effervescing  water 
innocent  of  whisky. 

A  man  in  black  clothes,  obviously  a  valet,  came 
up  to  Colonel  Adams. 

"I've  put  everything  ready  in  your  room,  sir,"  he 
said.    "Is  there  anything  else?" 

"No,  there  is  nothing  else,  Snell,"  the  soldier 
answered.     "You  can  go  to  bed  now." 

2 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

The  man  was  moving  away  when  Adams  called 
him  back. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Snell,  did  you  find  out  what  I 
asked  you?  It  is  Mrs.  Admaston  who  is  staying 
here,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,  she  is  here  with  her  maid,  and " 

"Well?" 

The  man  seemed  to  hesitate  slightly,  but  at  length 
he  spoke :  "Mr.  Roderick  Collingwood  is  here  too, 
sir." 

"Is  he,  by  Jove !"  Adams  said,  more  to  his  friend 
than  to  his  servant.  "Very  well,  Snell.  Good 
night." 

The  valet  withdrew,  and  Colonel  Adams  puffed 
vigorously  at  his  pipe  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"The — the  Mrs.  Admaston?"  the  civilian  asked. 

Colonel  Adams  nodded.  "The  great,  little  Peggy 
herself,"  he  said;  "none  other.  Surely  you've  met 
her,  Passhe?" 

"I  was  introduced  to  her  some  months  ago  at 
a  Foreign  Office  reception,"  the  younger  man  an- 
swered ;  "but  I  really  can't  say  that  I  know  her.  I've 
never  been  to  any  of  the  Admastons'  parties.  In 
fact,  my  dear  Adams,  I  am  a  little  bit  out  of  things 
in  town  now.  Ask  me  anything  about  an^  of  the 
Indian  set  and  I  can  tell  you,  but  as  far  as  society 
goes  in  London  I  am  a  back  number.  I  won't  say, 
though,  that  I  haven't  heard  this  and  that  about 

3 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

the  Admastons.  One  can't  go  anywhere  without 
hearing  their  names.  However,  I  know  nothing 
of  the  rights  or  wrongs  of  the  story — if  story  there 
is  at  all.  But  certainly  every  one  has  heard  this 
man  Collingwood's  name  mentioned  in  connection 
with  that  of  Mrs.  Admaston.  Who  was  she,  any 
way  ?  You  know  everything  about  everybody.  Tell 
me  all  about  them." 

Colonel  Adams  sipped  his  Perrier  quietly,  and 
his  brown,  lean  face  became  unusually  meditative. 

"Aren't  you  sleepy?"  he  said. 

"Can't  sleep,  confound  it!"  Passhe  replied. 
"Liver.  Have  lunch,  take  an  afternoon  nap,  and 
then  can't  get  to  sleep  at  night  for  the  Lord  knows 
how  long." 

"I  know,"  Adams  said  sympathetically.  "Liver 
is  the  very  devil.  That's  the  worst  of  India.  Now, 
there  is  nothing,  my  dear  chap,  that  I  should  enjoy 
more  at  this  moment  than  a  two-finger  peg  of  whis- 
ky. Can  I  take  it?  Damn  it,  no!  I  should  have 
heartburn  for  hours — that's  India!  But  since  you 
are  not  sleepy,  and  I  am  sure  I'm  not,  I  will  tell 
you  about  the  Admastons." 

The  colonel's  pipe  had  gone  out.  He  relit  it, 
pressed  down  the  ashes  with  the  head  of  a  little 
silver  pencil-case  which  he  took  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  sent  out  a  cloud  of  fragrant  blue-grey 
smoke,  leant  back  in  his  arm-chair,  and  began. 

4 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Admaston,"  Colonel  Adams  began,  "is  one  of 
the  most  hard-working  Johnnies  of  the  day.  He's 
as  rich  as  what-d'you-call-him,  of  course,  but  he 
hasn't  used  his  wealth  to  make  his  position  in  Parlia- 
ment or  to  get  him  his  place  in  the  Cabinet.  He's 
done  it  by  sheer  ability,  by  Jove!  He's  of  an  old 
family,  but  there  haven't  been  any  members  of  it  in 
big  political  positions  to  help  him  over  the  heads  of 
those  who  have  to  shift  for  themselves. 

"He  was  at  Harrow  with  me,  though  considerably 
my  junior,  and  I  remember  he  played  cricket  with 
an  energy  that  deserved  a  much  higher  batting 
average  than  he  got.  He  wasn't  a  studious  youth 
by  any  means,  though  he  learnt  enough  to  know 
his  way  about.  He  was  still  at  school  and  I  had 
just  passed  into  Sandhurst  when  his  father  died  and 
left  him  a  huge  fortune.  Then  he  went  to  Oxford 
— New  College  it  may  have  been,  or  possibly  the 
House.  I  don't  think  he  did  anything  much  at  Ox- 
ford. I'm  told  by  men  who  were  up  with  him  that 
the  sense  of  the  enormous  responsibility  which  fell 
on  him  after  his  father's  death,  and  the  anxieties  of 
having  to  manage  a  great  estate  and  a  huge  business, 
spoilt  him  for  the  schools  and  rather  put  him  off 
cricket.  He  might  have  got  into  the  Eleven,  but 
he  didn't  care  enough  about  it  to  try  hard." 

"A  bit  phlegmatic  in  temperament?"  Passhe 
asked. 

5 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"That's  it,"  replied  Colonel  Adams.  "Nothing 
seemed  to  move  him  much.  If  ever  a  man  was 
born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,  George 
Admaston  was  the  chap.  But  I  don't  believe  he 
cared  particularly  whether  his  spoon  was  silver  or 
pewter,  by  Jove!  Just  a  plain  fellow  of  frugal 
habits.  I  am  told  that  when  he  met  the  deputa- 
tion from  the  Northern  Division  of  Lancashire, 
which  went  up  to  town  to  ask  him  to  contest  that 
constituency,  after  the  interview  one  of  the  local 
Johnnies  said,  *Mr.  Admaston  was  so  nice  that  he 
might  be  nobody.'  At  anyrate,  George  has  found 
his  metier  in  politics.  Three  years  in  opposition 
gave  him  a  great  reputation  as  a  quick  and  ready 
debater.  He  is  a  great  asset  to  his  party  now,  and 
at  by-elections  he's  the  night-before-the-poll  man." 

"But  what  about  his  wife?"  said  the  civilian. 

"I'm  coming  to  that,  Henry,"  Adams  answered. 
"And  if  I  am  a  bit  long-winded  you've  jolly  well 
brought  it  on  yourself.  It's  like  this.  George's 
father  was  the  head  of  Admaston,  Grainger  &  Co., 
the  big  City  financiers.  Old  Grainger  had  a  daugh- 
ter, much  younger  than  George  Admaston.  Peggy 
Grainger  was  only  a  tiny  little  girl  when  Admaston' s 
father  died.  I'm  told  that  the  old  men  when  they 
were  together  would  chaff  each  other  about  their 
children.  Old  Grainger  used  to  say  that  they  must 
certainly  marry — keep  the  firm  together,  and  so  on, 

6 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

don't  you  know.  In  fact,  the  last  letter  that  George 
ever  got  from  his  father  referred  to  old  Grainger's 
notion  that  George  should  marry  IPeggy.  Now, 
Peggy's  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman,  a  Mile.  Guil- 
lou,  and  the  girl  was  educated  in  France.  George 
hadn't  been  long  in  the  Cabinet  when  old  Grainger 
brought  Peggy  to  London,  She  was  about  nineteen 
then,  and  the  prettiest,  most  flirtatious,  whimsical 
little  butterfly  of  a  thing  that  you  could  possibly 
imagine.  Well,  her  father  established  Peggy  in  a 
big  house  in  St.  James's — ^huge  retinue  of  servants 
and  so  forth.  All  London  began  to  talk  about  the 
rich  Miss  Grainger.  The  girl  spent  just  what  she 
liked — her  father  encouraged  her  to  do  it ;  there  was 
really  nothing  else  to  be  done  with  the  money.  But 
whenever  George  came  to  the  house — and  he  saw  a 
lot  of  the  Graingers  the  first  year  when  Peggy  came 
to  London — the  old  boy  was  always  hinting  to  him 
that  he  ought  to  marry  Peggy. 

"One  evening  Admaston  was  called  off  the 
Treasury  Bench  in  the  House  to  speak  at  the  tele- 
phone. He  thought  it  was  Peggy,  but  it  wasn't. 
It  was  her  old  maid,  Pauline,  who  is  here  with  her 
in  this  hotel  to-night,  and  who  has  looked  after  her 
all  her  life  nearly.  Pauline  said  that  old  Grainger 
had  just  passed  in  his  cheques,  by  Jove!  He  was 
a  big  fleshy  fellow — always  did  himself  top  hole. 
He'd  made  a  big  dinner,  laughed  at  a  joke  like  any- 

7 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

thing  with  his  daughter,  had  a  stroke,  and  was  cool- 
ing by  ten  o'clock." 

"And  then  ?"  Henry  Passhe  asked. 

"Well,  of  course,  Peggy  was  left  quite  alone. 
There  were  no  relatives.  In  fact,  there  was  nobody 
except  this  old  nurse,  Pauline,  a  woman  of  about 
forty.  Mrs.  Grainger  had  been  a  chronic  invalid, 
and  she  had  left  the  girl  in  charge  of  the  'bonne.' 
Old  Grainger  often  used  to  say  that  Pauline  was 
more  of  a  mother  to  Peggy  than  even  his  wife  had 
been,  and  after  his  death  Peggy  relied  upon  the 
woman  for  almost  everything.  She's  been  with  her 
ever  since,  and  is  more  like  a  mother  to  her  still 
than  a  servant.  Pauline,  in  fact,  took  charge  of 
the  household,  looked  after  the  servants  in  every 
way,  and  controlled  everything.  It  was  a  curious 
menage. 

"One  day  Peggy  and  Admaston  met  at  a  country 
house  for  a  week-end  party.  Nobody  knows  ex- 
actly how  it  happened,  but  at  anyrate  George  pro- 
posed and  Peggy  accepted  him.  I  remember  the 
fuss  they  made  about  it  in  the  society  papers — ful- 
some, sickenin'  sort  of  hog-wash  they  wrote.  'Love 
at  first  sight,'  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  'Little 
Peggy  was  to  be  the  wife  of  a  Prime  Minister' — 
'they  adored  each  other,'  etc.  But  I'll  eat  my  hand 
if  they  did  anything  of  the  kind.  They  simply 
remembered  the  wishes  of  their  fathers  and  saw  it 

8 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

was  best  to  consolidate  their  huge  commercial  in- 
terests. I  daresay  Peggy  felt  very  lonely  and  George 
felt  very  sorry  for  her.  At  anyrate,  the  engage- 
ment was  announced. 

"(jeorge  had  an  aunt — has  her  still,  I  suppose — 
the  rich  Miss  Admaston,  a  damned  old  cat  who 
gives  thousands  to  foreign  missions,  I've  met  some 
of  the  missionaries  of  her  particular  gospel-shop  in 
India,  and  a  nice  lot  of  touts  they  are  too.  Well, 
the  old  cat  was  fearfully  cut  up  by  the  news  of  the 
engagement.  She  thought  Peggy  was  far  too 
French  and  frivolous  for  George,  and,  of  course, 
Peggy  has  always  been  rather  go-ahead.  For  my 
part,  I  don't  care  what  they  are  saying  now,  I  don't 
think  there  is  an  ounce  of  vice  in  the  girl. 

"It's  gettin'  rather  late,  Henry,  and  I'm  afraid 
I'm  boring  you  ?" 

"Not  a  bit;  go  on,  do,"  the  secretary  answered. 

"Very  well.  George's  engagement  to  Peggy  seri- 
ously affected  the  lives  of  two  pveople  who  are 
deucedly  well  known  in  society.  One  of  them  was 
Lady  Attwill,  widow  of  'CHpper'  Attwill,  who  scup- 
pered his  yacht  and  himself  too  somewhere  in  the 
Mediterranean — a  thorough  bad  hat,  Qipper  was. 
Lady  Attwill  had  been  setting  her  cap  at  George 
for  a  long  time.  Every  one  knew  it  but  George. 
It  was  a  regular  joke  of  one  season.  She  couldn't 
get  hold   of  him,   though,   despite   everything  she 

9 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

could  do.  George  hadn't  an  idea  of  what  the  woman 
wanted.  He  was  really  fond  of  her.  He  looked 
on  her  as  a  very  dear  friend,  and  he  took  all  her 
kindnesses  and  so  forth  just  in  that  light,  with  a 
calm  complacency  that  must  have  sent  her  raving  at 
times.  Of  course,  all  Lady  Attwill's  friends  did 
their  very  best  to  bring  the  two  together  upon  every 
possible  occasion;  and  when  George  steered  clear 
and  proposed  to  Peggy,  every  one  said  the  poor, 
dear  chap  was  one  of  the  craftiest  politicians  on 
the  Front  Bench.  And  all  the  time,  Henry,  I'll  lay 
you  what  you  like  that  Admaston  was  as  innocent 
as  a  canary. 

"There  were  two  people,  I  said,  who  were  seri- 
ously affected  by  George's  engagement.  Well,  the 
other  was  Roderick  Collingwood,  who's  staying  in 
the  hotel  now,  as  Snell  has  just  told  us, 

"Colling — everybody  calls  him  Colling — knew 
Peggy's  governor.  He's  a  bally  millionaire  also, 
and  he  used  to  have  a  good  many  dealings  with 
the  firm.  Collingwood  travels  about  a  great  deal — 
always  has  done, — and  he  first  met  Peggy  when 
she  was  a  flapper  of  fifteen  at  old  Grainger's  place 
near  Chantilly — old  Grainger  used  to  run  horses  a 
lot  in  France. 

'^Collingwood  has  always  been  an  extraordinary 
sort  of  chap;  he  was  then,  it  appears.  Like  any 
other  young  man  of  great  wealth,  he  found  every- 

10 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

thing  done  for  him,  anything  he  liked  ready  to  his 
hand,  and  simply  let  himself  go.  When  Peggy's 
father  died,  Colling  was  going  it  hell-for-leather — 
just  about  as  fast  as  they're  made.  Of  course, 
Peggy  knew  nothing  of  the  real  facts.  But  she 
heard  gossip  and  hints,  and  one  night  she  taxed 
him  with  the  way  he  was  living,  referring  specially 
to  one  or  two  of  his  more  recent  escapades.  He 
admitted  there  was  some  truth  in  what  she  said, 
and,  if  what  they  say  is  true,  made  her  some  sort 
of  a  promise  of  reformation.  At  anyrate,  he  pulled 
up;  there's  no  doubt  of  that. 

"Afterwards  the  two  met  fairly  regularly,  and  I 
was  staying  at  Lord  Ellerdine's  place  in  Yorkshire 
when  I  believe  Collingwood  told  Peggy  of  the  good 
influence  she  had  been,  and  showed  himself  as  a  re- 
formed rake,  by  Jove!  I  think  there's  no  doubt 
at  all  that  he  would  have  proposed  te  the  girl  if 
George  Admaston  had  not  forestalled  him.  They 
say  Collingwood  was  frightfully  cut  up.  At  any- 
rate, he  wasn't  in  England  when  the  marriage  took 
place. 

"It  was  a  great  wedding.  Everybody  who  was 
anybody  was  there,  only  excepting  Colling-\vood 
and  Lady  Attwill.  In  their  case,  I  remember  that 
people  said  they  were  falling  back  on  their  own 
reserves;  but  that  was  pure  scandal,  of  course. 
When  Collingwood  was  in  Spain,  Lady  Attwill  was 

II 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

in  Switzerland.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were 
both  gp-eat  friends ;  and  no  doubt  when  Clipper  went 
down  in  his  yacht  and  left  Lady  Attwill  very  badly 
off,  Collingwood  was  quite  generous  to  her. 

"Well,  to  cut  a  long  story  short — I  see  it's  nearly 
one  o'clock, — Admaston  and  his  wife  spent  their 
honeymoon  in  Italy — Rome,  I  think  it  was,  or 
Florence.  Shortly  after  their  return  George  intro- 
duced his  long  and  complicated  bill  on  National 
Roads.  It  had  over  a  hundred  clauses.  Ill-natured 
people  said  that  he  married  in  order  to  have  an 
excuse  to  get  a  holiday  in  which  to  draft  his  meas- 
ure. At  anyrate,  after  the  introduction  of  the  bill 
George  became  the  absolute  centre  of  the  political 
strife  of  the  day.  He  worked  harder  than  ever. 
His  party  had  been  in  office  for  three  years,  and 
their  declining  favour  urged  him  on  to  rouse  his  fol- 
lowers in  the  House  and  in  the  country  to  tackle 
some  necessary  reforms  before  the  ensuing  General 
Election.  In  fact,  for  months  after  his  marriage 
Admaston  seemed  to  live  for  his  Department  and 
the  Front  Bench.  He  was  hardly  ever  seen  with 
Peggy. 

"On  her  part,  Peggy  went  everywhere,  and  soon 
the  gossii>s  had  it  that  Admaston  was  disappointed, 
while  his  wife  lived  a  really  butterfly  life. 

"Mrs.  Admaston's  conduct  certainly  puzzled  the 
gossips.     No  one  could  say  with  any  sort  of  cer- 

12 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

tainty  that  she  did  anything  wrong.  Even  her  best 
friends — generally  the  first  persons  to  give  one  away 
— only  laughed  when  they  were  questioned,  and  said, 
'It's  only  Peggy.'  She  and  Roderick  CoUingwood 
met  again  and  again,  renewing  their  old  friendship. 
After  the  marriage  it  was  said  that  Collingwood 
had  a  very  bad  time.  There  was  a  broad  wicked 
streak  in  him,  and  everybody  assumed  that  he  had 
gone  back  to  his  old  fast  living.  Well,  at  anyrate, 
Peggy  took  him  up  again.  She  was  the  kind  that 
either  had  to  be  mothered  or  have  someone  she 
could  mother  herself.  George,  apparently,  wasn't 
very  much  about,  and  so  she  started  once  more 
in  the  effort  to  exert  a  benign  influence  over  an 
erratic  chap  like  Collingwood.  Of  course,  people 
said  on  all  sides  that  it  was  a  very  dangerous  game 
to  play. 

"Old-fashioned  people  shook  their  heads  and  fore- 
told all  sorts  of  trouble  for  the  little  butterfly  that 
fluttered  so  near  to  the  flame  which  every  one  sup- 
posed was  burning  perpetually  in  Collingwood's 
heart. 

"About  this  time  Lady  Attwill  returned  to  Eng- 
land and  sought  out  George  Admaston.  What  she 
did  quite  upset  the  calculations  of  the  people  who 
talk.  She  became  very  attentive  to  George,  and  yet, 
at  the. same  time,  managed  to  get  about  a  good  bit 
with  Peggy.    In  fact,  she  seemed  in  a  sort  of  way 

13 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WtiEEL 

to  console  Admaston  and  to  be  enco.iraging  his 
wife.  Society  has  been  perplexed  by  the  whole  busi- 
ness for  a  considerable  time.  No  one  knows  what 
to  make  of  the  position.  They  all  met,  for  instance, 
at  Ellerdine's  for  the  shooting.  Admaston  ran  down 
for  a  week-end  only.  Then  during  the  late  winter, 
after  a  long  autumn  session,  rumours  flew  thick  and 
fast,  and  everybody  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  the 
storm  to  break.  Why  there  should  be  a  storm  no- 
body really  seemed  to  know.  Collingwood  and 
Peggy  have  been  talked  about  to  the  exclusion  of 
almost  every  other  subject.  They're  talked  about 
now.  London  and  the  Faubourg  Saint  Honore  is 
buzzing  with  them.  And  here,  my  dear  Passhe,  you 
and  I  away  up  at  the  Tuileries  for  a  merry  week 
of  theatres  in  Paris,  and  we  find  Peggy  staying  here 
and  Collingwood,  too,  by  Jove! — what!  what! 
Damn  it,  Passhe,  you're  asleep!" 

A  long-drawn  and  not  entirely  unmelodious  snore 
proclaimed  that  Colonel  Adams's  long  recital  had 
somewhat  wearied  the  civilian,  who  was  not  "in 
society." 


14 


CHAPTER  II 

Mrs.  Admaston's  sitting-room  at  the  Hotel  des 
Tuileries  was  a  large  and  beautiful  apartment,  one 
of  the  best  in  the  hotel.  Save  for  the  long  French 
windows,  which  were  now,  at  midnight,  covered 
with  curtains  of  green  tussore  silk,  there  was  noth- 
ing distinctively  foreign  about  the  room.  The  best 
French  hotels  nowadays  have  all  adopted  English 
and  American  standards  of  comfort.  The  stove, 
the  uncarpeted  and  slippery  parquet  floor,  the  im- 
possible chairs,  and  a  ceiling  painted  to  resemble 
a  nightmare  of  a  fruiterer's  shop,  are  all  tilings  of 
the  past. 

Electric  lights  in  softly  shaded  globes  threw  a 
pleasant  yellow  radiance  over  everything.  A  fire 
of  cedarwood  logs  glowed  on  the  tiled  hearth,  and 
a  great  bunch  of  lilac  stood  in  a  copper  bowl  upon 
a  small  mahogany  table  which  was  placed  between 
two  doors  which  faced  the  one  leading  to  Mrs.  Ad- 
maston's  bedroom. 

Some  tall  silver  candlesticks  stood  upon  the 
Broadwood  piano;  and  there  were  others,  in  which 
the  candles  were  not  lit,  upon  brackets  on  either 
side  of  the  telephone. 

15 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

It  was  just  upon  midnig-ht  when  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Admaston's  bedroom  opened  and  her  confidential 
maid  and  companion  came  into  the  room.  Pauline 
Toche  was  a  woman  of  some  forty  years  of  age. 
Her  black  hair  streaked  with  grey  was  drawn  tightly 
back  from  her  forehead.  The  face,  a  little  hard  and 
watchful  perhaps,  nevertheless  showed  signs  of 
marked  intelligence.  The  eyes  had  something  of 
the  ferocity  but  also  the  fidelity  of  a  well-trained 
watch-dog.  She  was  dressed  unassumingly  enough 
in  black,  and  she  wore  an  apron  also  of  some  black 
material. 

Such  a  face  and  figure  may  be  seen  a  dozen  times 
in  any  Breton  village,  and  more  than  once  her 
friends  had  said  to  Mrs.  Admaston  that  Pauline 
seemed  to  require  the  coif  of  her  country — the 
snowy  white  and  goffered  col  which  is  worn  over 
the  shoulders ;  a  pair  of  sabots  even ! 

The  maid  was  a  Breton  woman,  a  daughter  of 
one  of  the  millers  of  Pont-Aven,  and  preserved  still 
all  the  characteristics  of  that  hardy  Celtic  race. 

As  the  maid  entered  the  sitting-room  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door,  and  in  response  to  her  "Entrez" 
a  waiter  came  into  the  room.  He  was  an  odd- 
looking  person  with  brilliant  red  hair — rather  a  rare 
thing  in  France,  but  cropped  close  to  his  head  in 
the  French  manner,  so  that  it  seemed  to  be  almost 
squirting  out  of  his  scalp.    The  man,  with  his  nap- 

i6 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

kin  over  his  arm,  his  short  Eton  jacket,  and  boots 
soled  with  list,  was  dressed  just  like  any  other 
waiter  in  the  hotel,  but  somehow  or  other  there  was 
something  unsual  in  his  aspect. 

He  carried  a  tray,  and  went  up  to  a  small  round 
table,  gleaming  with  cut-glass  and  silver,  on  which 
supper  had  been  laid. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  there  is  no  train  from  Chalons 
before  morning?"  Pauline  asked  the  man  in  French. 

"No  train  before  five  o'clock,  mademoiselle,"  the 
man  replied.  "The  last  fast  train  reaches  Paris  at 
eight- forty." 

The  Breton  woman  nodded. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  gazing  at  him  rather 
keenly;  and  then  suddenly — "You're  not  French, 
are  you?" 

With  great  precision,  almost  as  if  he  was  prac- 
tising something  learnt  by  rote  and  not  entirely 
natural  to  him,  the  waiter  clicked  his  heels  together, 
spread  out  the  palms  of  his  hands,  and  bowed. 

"Mais  oui,  mademoiselle,"  he  said. 

Pauline  shook  her  head  slightly. 

"You  do  not  deceive  me,"  she  said.  "There  is 
something  about  you — ^you  are  a  Frenchman?" 

The  waiter  had  been  piling  plates  up  on  a  tray. 
He  put  the  tray  down  on  the  table,  smiled  with 
a  total  change  of  manner,  and  answered  her. 

"No,"  he  said  with  a  grin. 
17 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"I  knew  it,"  Pauline  said.  "Is  it  then  that  you 
are  Irish,  M.  Jacques?" 

"Most  certainly  not,"  replied  the  waiter. 

"I  figure  to  myself  that  you  are  English?" 

Jacques  came  up  still  closer  to  the  maid,  his  voice 
dropped,  and  his  manner  became  confidential.  "Not 
even  quite  English,  mademoiselle,"  he  said.  "I'm 
a  Scotsman.    I  was  born  at  Ecclefechan." 

"Mon  Dieu!"  said  Pauline;  "Eccle !     What 

a  name  of  barbarity!  I  did  not  know  that  there 
were  such  names.  La!  la!  But  your  name,  mon- 
sieur, your  name — ^Jacques?" 

"Mademoiselle  speaks  English?" 

"Quite  well,"  Pauline  replied. 

"Well,  you  see,  miss,  I've  been  here  a  long  time, 
and  I  am  a  great  favourite  with  the  English  visitors. 
It  would  never  do  to  tell  them  that  I'm  a  Scotsman, 
and  that  my  real  name  is  Jock.  You  see,  they  like 
to  practise  their  French  on  me.  The  management 
always  send  me  to  wait  upon  English  visitors.  Of 
course,  I  can  understand  what  they  mean,  and  it 
flatters  them  to  think  that  they're  really  speaking 
French.  I  heard  an  old  lady  the  other  day  talking 
to  her  daughter.  'My  dear,'  she  said,  'those  extra 
French  lessons  at  the  High  School  have  not  been 
wasted.  That  nice,  attentive  French  waiter  under- 
stands you  .perfectly' ;  and  so  I  did  of  course,  miss, 
though  when  she  wanted  the  mussels  she  said,  'Es- 

i8 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

ker  voos  avvy  des  moulins  ?*  And  when  she  wanted 
the  pastry  she  called  it  'tapisserie'  instead  of  'patis- 
serie.' So  you  see  my  French  name  is  one  of  my 
great  assets,  though  you,  mademoiselle,  saw  through 
me  very  easily,"  Here  the  waiter  once  more  re- 
lapsed into  his  best  French  manner  and  made  a 
flourishing  little  bow.  "Do  you  stay  long  in  Paris, 
mademoiselle?"  he  asked,  going  back  to  the  table 
and  beginning  to  remove  the  dishes. 

"I  can't  say,"  Pauline  replied.  "As  a  matter  of 
fact,  we  are  here  quite  by  accident.  We  are  really 
going  to  Switzerland." 

"The  wrong  train  ?"  inquired  the  waiter. 

"Yes,  that  was  it,"  Pauline  answered.  "We  took 
the  wrong  train,  and  our  party  got  divided  some- 
where." 

"What  bad  luck!"  Jacques  answered.  Then  he 
gave  a  rather  searching  glance  at  Pauline.  "But 
surely  M.  Colling^ood  knows  the  Continent?"  he 
asked. 

The  maid  gave  an  almost  imperceptible  start,  and 
went  up  to  the  fireplace,  where  she  began  to  pull 
about  the  flowers  in  one  of  the  vases.  "Oh  yes,  I 
think  so,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  which  strove  to 
appear  quite  indifferent  to  the  question. 

"Well,  I  can  tell  you,"  the  waiter  went  on — "I 
can  tell  you  that  M.  Collingwood  knows  the  Con- 
tinent as  well  as  a  Cook's  agent.    He's  always  trav- 

19 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

elling  about.  You  can  see  his  name  in  the  Riviera 
lists,  in  the  Paris  Daily  Mail  or  the  New  York 
Herald.  He's  at  Nice  for  the  races.  He's  at  Monte 
Carlo  for  the  pigeon-shooting.  He's  at  Marienbad 
for  a  cure,  or  climbing  mountains  in  the  Bernese 
Oberland.  He  is  everywhere,  is  M.  Collingwood. 
He  was  staying  here  last  year,  for  instance." 

The  maid  turned  slowly  from  the  fire  and  looked 
towards  the  supper-table. 

"Yes,  yes?"  she  said  with  some  eagerness.  "He 
is  here  often?    At  this  hotel?" 

"I  can  remember  him  being  here  three  times," 
the  man  replied.  And  there  was  something  rather 
furtive  in  his  look,  something  which  seemed  to  speak 
of  a  suppressed  curiosity  and  watchfulness.  Many 
waiters  in  smart  hotels,  both  in  London  and  in  Paris, 
have  this  look — the  veritable  expression  of  Paul 
Pry.  "Have  you  been  long  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Admaston  ?" 

"I've  been  many  years  with  madame,"  Pauline 
replied.  And  then,  speaking  rather  suddenly,  "You 
seem  to  have  a  very  good  memory,  Mr.  Jock 
Jacques." 

"It  is  necessary,"  the  man  answered,  with  all  the 
dryness  of  a  Scotsman. 

"And  yet  sometimes,"  Pauline  replied,  "it  is 
necessary  not  to  have  a  good  memory." 

"Perhaps,"  the  waiter  answered.  "Certainly 
20 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

sometimes  discretion  is  the  better  part  of  recol- 
lection," giving  her  a  look  of  great  slyness  as  he 
spoke. 

Pauline  shrugged  her  shoulders.  There  was  a 
note  of  veiled  contempt  in  her  voice.  "To  forget 
easily  is  sometimes  very  convenient,  n'est-ce  pas?" 
she  said. 

"When  it  is  worth  more  than  a  good  memory," 
he  answered. 

"Doubtless  you  are  very  well  off,  Mr.  Jock," 
Pauline  continued,  and  this  time  the  sneer  in  her 
voice  was  hardly  veiled. 

At  this  the  waiter  began  brushing  the  crumbs 
from  the  table  very  vigorously.  "I'm  only  a  poor 
waiter,"  he  said. 

"Then  surely  that  must  be  your  own  fault?  There 
ought  to  be  many  opportunities  in  a  hotel  of  this 
sort  of  making  a  good  use  of  a  convenient  mem- 
ory?" 

"Well,  yes,  you're  right  there,"  came  from  the 
man,  with  a  rather  ill-favoured  leer.  "But,  you  see, 
I  am  too  sentimental  for  that." 

Pauline  laughed  in  answer,  and  not  very  pleas- 
antly. "Don't  tell  me,"  she  said.  "I've  been  in 
Scotland  for  the  shooting  of  the  grouse.  There 
is  no  Scotsman  too  sentimental  to  make  money. 
What  part  of  Scotland  did  you  say  you  came  from  ? 
La !  la !  la !    And  at  your  age,  too !" 

21 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"On  the  contrary,  the  older  I  grow  the  more 
sentimental  I  become." 

Pauline  shook  her  head.  "Mon  Dieu !"  she  said ; 
"every  one  knows  that  sentiment  ends  at  forty." 

The  waiter,  a  quick-witted  rogue  enough,  seemed 
to  be  thoroughly  enjoying  this  midnight  conversa- 
tion. He  stood  with  one  arm  akimbo,  the  other 
resting  on  the  table,  and  grinned  like  a  vulgar  Meph- 
istopheles.  "If  sentiment  ends  at  forty,"  he  said, 
"you,  mademoiselle,  will  suffer  from  it  for  a  long 
time  to  come." 

"Ma  foi,  no!  No  suffering  for  me,"  Pauline  re- 
plied. "I'm  a  very  practical  person.  It  would  take 
a  great  deal  to  make  me  sentimental." 

"I  wonder  how  much?"  the  man  answered.  "A 
nice  little  hotel  with  a  good  trade,  say?" 

Pauline  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "No,  that  would 
mean  work.  I  am  used  to  seeing  a  life  of  sentiment 
without  work." 

The  waiter  once  more  began  to  clear  the  table. 
"It  is  a  pity  we  see  so  much  of  what  we  cannot 
have,"  he  answered,  rattling  the  coffee-cups  and 
silver. 

Pauline  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  stood  by  the 
fireplace  in  silence  watching  the  waiter,  and  showing 
plainly  by  her  manner  that  the  conversation  was 
over  and  that  she  was  waiting  for  him  to  go. 

22 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Suddenly  she  started  violently,  as  Jacques  did 
also. 

The  heavy  mahogany  door  leading  to  the  corri- 
dor outside  was  flung  open,  and  a  short,  thick-set, 
bearded  Frenchman  came  briskly  into  the  room. 
There  was  nothing  particularly  remarkable  about 
him.  He  might  have  been  an  ordinary  commercial 
traveller,  save  for  a  pair  of  singularly  alert  eyes, 
which  glanced  rapidly  hither  and  thither  and  took 
in  the  whole  room  in  one  comprehensive  sweep. 
This  was  done  with  lightning-like  rapidity,  and 
then  the  fellow's  face  assumed  an  expression  of 
great  surprise — a  little  bit  overdone  and  too  forced 
to  seem  real. 

"A  thousand  pardons!"  he  said,  with  a  bow. 
"The  wrong  room !  My  mistake !  I  am  very  sorry. 
Accept  my  apologies." 

With  that  he  once  more  glanced  round  the  room 
and  left  it,  though  with  not  quite  the  alacrity  of 
his  entrance,  closing  the  door  quietly  behind  him. 

But  into  the  quiet  room  something  strangely  dis- 
turbing had  come. 

It  was  no  longer  a  confidential  maid  gossiping 
with  the  casual  waiter  of  a  smart  hotel.  The  air, 
which  had  before  been  charged  with  little  suspicions, 
toy  fencings,  as  it  were,  between  people  of  no  great 
importance,  was  now  informed  with  something 
more  pressing,  more  imminent,  more  real. 

23 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Pauline  herself  positively  staggered  back  from 
the  fireplace  towards  the  table,  and  nearer  to  the 
waiter.  Her  brown  face  became  grey,  she  seemed 
for  a  moment  to  lose  control  of  herself,  while  the 
ferret  eyes  of  the  waiter  watched  her  with  an  ex- 
cited glitter  in  them. 

"That  man!"  .  .  .  The  exclamation  came  from 
Pauline  almost  like  a  cry.     "That  man!" 

Jacques  was  all  bent  to  attention.  He  hurried 
up  to  the  woman.    "Yes,  yes?"  he  said. 

"Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?"  Pauline  asked.  "Have 
you  seen  him  before,  M.  Jacques  ?" 

The  man  watched  her  keenly.  "I  don't  know, 
mademoiselle,"  he  answered  in  a  guarded  voice. 

"That  man,  I  say — have  you  seen  him  before? 
...   I  remember." 

The  waiter  hastened  to  agree,  obviously  wishing 
to  discover  the  reason  of  Pauline's  agitation. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Now  you  mention  it,  made- 
moiselle, I  remember  too.  He  was  outside — there 
— in  the  corridor — just  after  I  had  shown  M.  Col- 
lingwood  and  you  and  madame  to  your  rooms." 

"Was  that  when  we  arrived?"  Pauline  asked. 
Her  brown  hands  were  trembling,  her  eyes  were 
informed  with  anxiety. 

Jacques  bent  his  head  forward.  The  two  were 
vis-d-vis — ^he  watched  her  intently. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

24 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Then  Pauline  seemed  to  lose  all  her  caution.  She 
threw  up  her  hands  and  her  face  became  wrinkled 
with  excitement, 

"La!  la!"  she  cried,  "but  he  was  looking  at  ma- 
dame's  boxes  at  Boulogne."  .  .  . 

With  quiet  but  hurried  steps  she  went  up  to  the 
door  leading  to  the  corridor,  turned  the  handle 
gently,  flung  it  open  and  gazed  out. 

There  was  obviously  nobody  there,  for  in  a  mo- 
ment she  returned,  closed  the  door,  and  once  more 
confronted  the  waiter  with  a  grey  and  troubled  face. 

"Que  diable  fait-il?"  she  said  in  a  frightened 
voice.    "But  M.  Jacques,  what  can  it  mean?" 

Again  the  ugly  leer  came  over  the  gargon's  face, 
"Sentiment,"  he  said. 

The  middle-aged  Breton  woman  pressed  both 
hands  to  her  heart  with  one  of  those  wild  and  ex- 
pressive Celtic  gestures  which  seem  so  exaggerated 
to  English  folk,  but  which  are,  nevertheless,  so  truly 
expressive  of  emotion. 

"Madame!"  she  cried. 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  madame,"  Jacques  an- 
swered quickly. 

As  if  clutching  at  a  hope,  Pauline  made  a  tremen- 
dous effort  to  get  in  key  with  her  tormentor. 

"No,  no !"  she  said  with  an  affectation  of  bright- 
ness. "What  ?  Is  it  that  you  were  thinking  of  me  ? 
Merci ! — that  would  be  funny !" 

25 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Sans  doute.  That's  what  they  say  in  England 
when  they  advertise  'No  followers.'  " 

The  woman  caught  the  last  word.  Her  face  had 
been  strained  in  anxious  thought. 

"Followers!"  she  said.  "Even  the  English  do 
not  expect  followers  from  London  to  Paris." 

By  this  time  Jacques  had  filled  his  tray,  had  folded 
up  the  shining  white  table-cloth  and  placed  it  over 
his  pyramid  of  plates. 

"Mademoiselle  is  too  modest,"  he  said,  moving 
towards  the  door,  but  still  watching  Pauline  in- 
tently. 

The  creature's  ears  seemed  literally  to  twitch  with 
greed  of  news  as  he  crossed  the  great  quiet  room. 

Pauline  was  speaking  to  herself.  "It's  queer," 
she  said.  "I  do  not  like  that.  Everything  has 
gone  wrong  to-day.  First  we  nearly  missed  the 
train.  Then  on  the  boat  we  were  all  seasick.  Then 
the  douanier  was  a  suspicious  fool.  Then  at 
Boulogne  we  got  on  the  wrong  train  and  lost  Lord 
Ellerdine  and  Lady  Attwill " 

A  little  hard  chuckle  of  amusement  came  from 
the  retiring  waiter,  and  as  Pauline  turned  to  him 
in  indignation  a  distant  voice  called  her  name: 

"Pauline!" 

"Madame!" 

"Good  night,  mademoiselle,"  the  waiter  said,  one 
hand  supporting  the  heavy  tray,  the  other  upon  the 

26 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

handle  of  the  door.  "Good  night,  mademoiselle. 
Remember  that  Jock  from  Ecclefechan  has  a  good 
memory." 

Pauline  was  trembling,  but  she  turned  to  the 
fellow.  "Good  night,  Jock  from "  She  splut- 
tered in  her  throat,  laughed  artificially,  shut  the 
door  after  the  man,  and  then  turned  eagerly  towards 
the  door  which  led  to  Mrs.  Admaston's  bedroom. 

There  was  a  note  of  tremendous  relief  in  her 
voice  as  she  cried  out  "Madame!"  once  more. 

The  door  from  the  bedroom  opened  and  Mrs. 
Admaston  entered. 

She  was  a  slim,  girlish-looking  woman,  with  a 
cascade  of  long  dark  hair  falling  over  her  shoulders. 

The  face  was  small,  the  complexion  of  it  rose- 
brown,  the  eyes  dark  wells  of  laughing  light,  the 
lips  twin  rosebuds  with  a  sense  of  humour. 

She  was  wearing  a  long  wrap,  half  tea-gown, 
half  dressing-gown,  of  topaz-coloured  silk,  and 
round  her  slender  waist  was  a  cord  of  light-blue 
and  gold  threads  ending  in  two  large  tassels  of  gold. 

Now  there  was  something  half  tired,  half  petu- 
lant, and  wholly  puzzled  about  her  face  as  she  swept 
into  the  room. 

"It's  no  use,"  she  said  in  a  rippling  musical  voice ; 
"it  isn't  a  bit  of  use,  Pauline!  I  can't  go  to  sleep. 
In  fact,  I'm  not  in  the  least  sleepy." 

She  looked  round  the  room  and  sighed. 

27  t 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"What  a  barn  of  a  place  this  is!"  she  said.  "I 
hate  those  green  curtains.  They're  so  horribly  con- 
scious of  the  colour  scheme.  And  then  the  topaz- 
shaded  lights  over  the  lamps — it's  all  so  dreadfully 
wearing.  And  in  my  room,  too,  PauHne,  it's  simply 
horrid.  It  reminds  me  of  a  sarcophagus,  or  a  mau- 
soleum, or  some  appalling  place  like  that.  And  the 
bed  is  too  low !  I  don't  think  much  of  this  room, 
but  after  all  it's  nicer  in  here." 

She  sank  down  with  a  sigh  into  an  arm-chair. 

"Yes,"  she  said  once  more,  "it  really  is  much 
nicer  in  here.  Make  me  cosy,  Pauline,  and  do  my 
hair." 

She  had  brought  two  ivory  brushes  into  the  room, 
and  placed  them  on  the  table.  Now  she  pointed  to 
them  with  a  little  hand  as  sweetly,  faintly  pink  as 
the  inside  of  a  sea-shell.  The  light  caught  the  broad 
wedding  ring  of  dull  gold  as  she  did  so. 

Pauline  took  up  the  brushes  and  went  up  to  her 
mistress.  "I  thought  you  wouldn't  like  the  bed," 
she  said,  with  the  brusque  familiarity  of  an  old  serv- 
ant and  friend.  "In  fact,  I  knew  you  wouldn't  like 
it  directly  we  arrived.  You  always  wanted  to  sleep 
up  in  the  air." 

"Tiens,  Pauline !  I  don't  want  to  sleep  anywhere 
to-night.  Soothe  me,  make  me  comfortable.  Be  a 
good  Pauline!" 

The  elder  woman  took  up  the  brushes  and  stroked 
28 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

the  shining  hair  with  tender,  loving  hand.  "It's 
been  an  upsetting  day,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Admaston  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  the  kind 
hands  busied  themselves  about  her  hair. 

"Upsetting!"  she  cried;  "that's  it — just  the  word. 
I  am  upset.  Everything  has  been  upset.  Lord  El- 
lerdine  will  be  fearfully  upset.  Oh,  Pauline,  just 
fancy  our  getting  into  the  wrong  train!" 

The  maid  did  not  answer  anything,  but  went  on 
with  her  work. 

"It  was  all  owing  to  that  fool  of  a  Customs  of- 
ficer," the  girl  continued  in  a  less  strained  voice. 
"And  turning  my  things  upside  down!  The  way 
he  upset  my  clothes  was  perfectly  disgraceful.  And 
before  Mr.  Collingwood,  too!  And  all  for  half  a 
dozen  boxes  of  cigarettes !  Keeping  us  there,  paying 
their  beastly  tariff,  until  the  last  moment!" 

Pauline  put  the  brushes  down  upon  the  table  and 
came  round  to  the  front  of  the  chair.  She  looked 
critically  at  her  mistress's  hair.  "Yes,"  she  said; 
"but,  after  all,  it  was  very  lucky  the  porters  put 
the  boxes  in  the  Paris  train." 

"Wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

"What  a  bit  of  luck!" 

Pauline  left  her  mistress  for  a  moment  and  went 
into  the  bedroom.  She  returned  with  a  bottle  of 
eau-de-cologne    and    a    handkerchief.      Sprinkling 

29 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

some  of  the  spirit  upon  it,  she  held  it  to  Mrs.  Ad- 
maston's  forehead. 

"There!"  she  said,  "You  seem  tired,  my  dear; 
that  will  do  you  good.  It  was  very  clever  of  Mr. 
Collingwood  not  to  have  your  boxes  registered  at 
Charing  Cross." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Peggy  Admaston  leant  back 
in  the  arm-chair  with  closed  eyes.  "Yes,  wasn't  it?" 
she  said  drowsily.  There  was  a  pause  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  suddenly  the  girl  twisted  round  in 
her  chair,  caught  hold  of  the  elder  woman's  arm  and 
looked  at  her  searchingly. 

"Pauline!  what  did  you  mean  then?"  she  said. 

"What  did  I  mean,  madame?"  Pauline  asked. 

Peggy  nodded,  "Do  you  think — well,  I  suppose 
he  forgot?" 

"Pauline  raised  her  eyebrows.  "Eh,  bien,"  she 
said,  "they  do  not  as  a  rule  let  you  forget  to  register 
at  Charing  Cross." 

Peggy  rose  from  the  chair  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  sitting-room.  Her  little  bronze  bed- 
room slippers  peeped  in  and  out  from  her  trailing 
draperies  of  topaz-coloured  silk.  One  slender  wrist 
was  clasped  by  an  old  Moorish  bracelet  of  dull  silver, 
the  intricate  filigree  work  studded  here  and  there 
with  Balas  rubies.  With  her  long  hai'-  coiled  loosely 
in  a  shining  coronet  upon  her  head,  her  whole  ex- 
pression— an  atmosphere  she  exhaled — of  sprightly 

30 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

innocence,  she  seemed  indeed  a  fragile  little  butter^ 
fly.  Something  of  the  sort  crossed  the  mind  of  the 
faithful  Breton  woman.  She  sighed,  and  unper- 
ceived  her  hand  went  up  to  her  bodice,  where  she 
wore  a  little  silver  cross. 

Suddenly  Peggy  stopped  and  turned  towards  the 
maid. 

"Pauline,"  she  said,  "you  naughty  old  thing!  I 
do  believe  you  suspect  something." 

"No,  madame,"  Pauline  answered  quickly,  and 
there  was  something  almost  sulky  in  her  tone. 

Peggy  went  up  to  her  and  put  her  bare  white  arm 
upon  her  shoulder,  leaning  upon  her  caressingly. 

"You  do,"  she  said.  "Oh,  but  I  know  you  do! 
When  you  say  'No,  madame,'  like  that,  I  always 
know  that  there's  something  wrong." 

"I  only  think  of  you,  cherie,"  Pauline  said,  hold- 
ing the  little  hand,  which  was  like  a  thing  of  carved 
ivory. 

Peggy  gave  a  half-sigh  and  once  more  began  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"You  old  silly,  I  know  well  that  you  only  think 
of  me,"  she  said ;  "but  tell  me,  what  is  it  ?" 

"What  is  what?" 

Peggy  smiled  mischievously.  "There  ag^in !"  she 
said.  "That's  just  the  way  you  do  when  you  want 
me  to  coax  you.     Pauline,  be  nice  to  me!     Now, 

31 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

what  is  it  ?  Tell  me  what  you  suspect.  What  about 
the  boxes?" 

"Well,  I  do  not  like  Lady  Attwill,"  Pauline  re- 
plied slowly. 

"Oh,  but  Pauline !"  she  said. 

"It  is  no  use,  madame ;  I  cannot  be  two-faced  with 
you.  I  am  not  able  to  conceal  anything.  I  must 
speak  straight  out.  I  never  could  hide  anything 
from  you,  and  now  it  is  no  use  trying.  I  really 
can't  do  it." 

Her  voice  had  risen  towards  that  high  and  almost 
whining  note  of  excitement  and  protest  which  is  so 
peculiarly  characteristic  of  the  Bretons. 

"Good  gracious !  what  an  outburst  for  you !  What 
has  Lady  Attwill  done?  What  on  earth  has  she  to 
do  with  the  boxes?" 

Pauline  made  a  gesture  with  her  hands.  "But 
what  an  innocent!"  she  said,  in  half-humorous  de- 
spair. "You  never  see  things.  You  are  just  as 
confiding — I  mean  ignorant  of  people — as  you  were 
when  you  were  twelve  years  old.  Madame,  Lady 
Attwill  is  no  friend  of  yours." 

"But  that  is  absurd,  Pauline,"  Peggy  answered. 
"Lady  Attwill  is  devoted  to  me.    I  am  certain  of  it." 

The  maid  wrinkled  up  her  face,  pushed  out  her 
lips,  and  nodded  her  head  to  emphasise  her  words. 
"Indeed!  indeed,  madame!  Well,  tell  me  this. 
Would  she  have  kept  dodging  Lord  EUerdine  out 

32 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

of  the  way  at  Charing  Cross  and  afterwards  at 
Boulogne  if  she  was  your  friend?" 

Peggy  pouted.  "I  suppose  she  wanted  to  be  alone 
with  Lord  Ellerdine,"  she  said. 

"Jamais!  she  can  be  alone  with  him  at  her  flat — 
she  need  not  wait  to  be  alone  with  him  at  a  public 
railway  station." 

Peggy  laughed  mischievously.  "I  suppose, 
Pauline,  you  think  that's  one  to  you,"  she  said. 

"Tais-toi!"  said  the  old  woman,  both  voice  and 
manner  growing  more  serious  every  moment. 

"Well,  go  on,"  Peggy  replied  petulantly. 

Pauline's  voice  became  as  impressive  as  she  knew 
how  to  make  it. 

"I  am  sure  Lady  Attwill  knew  that  Mr.  Colling- 
wood  did  not  want  Lord  Ellerdine  in  the  way.  At 
Boulogne  it  was  just  the  same.  Lady  Attwill's 
things  were  examined  quickly,  and  then  oflf  she  went 
with  Lord  Ellerdine  in  the  Swiss  express,  and  we 
didn't  see  them  again.  She  went  out  of  sight. 
Now,  tell  me,  was  not  that  strange?" 

"Heavens !  how  hot  it  is !"  Peggy  said.  "Shall  I 
have  a  cigarette  ?  Yes,  I  really  think  I  will.  Fetch 
me  my  cigarette-case,  Pauline.  It  is  on  the  dressing- 
table  in  my  bedroom." 

In  a  moment  the  Breton  woman  returned  with  a 
dainty  little  case  of  gold  with  a  monogram  of  sapn 
phires  in  one  corner.     Peggy  took  a  cigarette,  lit 

33 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

it,  and  inhaled  a  breath  of  the  fragrant  smoke  with 
great  satisfaction.  Then  she  began  her  noiseless 
walk  up  and  down  the  room  again. 

"Certainly,"  she  said  suddenly,  "Lady  Attwill  is 
not  a  person  to  go  out  of  sight  for  nothing." 

Pauline  sneered.  "Oh,  miladi  is  a  convenience," 
she  said.  "M.  Collingwood  has  only  to  raise  his 
little  finger  and  she  will  do  anything." 

"You  mean  that  she  is  fond  of  him?" 

"Of  his  money,  rather." 

"Pauline,  that  is  really  perfectly  awful  of  you." 

Again  Pauline  sneered.  "She's  a  poor  widow, 
madame.  Lord  Attwill  left  her  nothing.  Oh,  I 
know!  I  always  find  out.  She  has  a  flat  at  three 
hundred  pounds,  an  electric  brougham,  a  box  at 
the  opera,  and  a  little  place  at  Henley.  Lord  Eller- 
dine  is  not  so  rich  as  that.  M.  Collingwood  is  very 
rich — very — very — very." 

/  Peggy  stopped  in  her  walk  now  and  faced  Pauline, 
who  had  been  sitting  upon  the  settee.  "You  mean 
she  gets  money  from  Mr.  Collingwood  ?"  she  asked. 

The  maid  rose  and  came  up  to  her  mistress,  touch- 
ing her  arm  imploringly.  "Oh,  madame,"  she  said 
with  deep  feeling,  "do  be  careful.  I  think  only  of 
you.  Don't  trust  Lady  Attwill.  She  is  no  friend 
of  yours.  She  has  never  forgiven  you  for  marrying 
M.  Admaston,  and  she  would  bring  mischief  be- 
tween you  both  if  she  could." 

34 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Pauline,  you  mustn't  say  that,"  Peggy  replied 
gently, 

"But,  madame,  it  is  true.  She  wanted  to  marry 
monsieur  herself,  and  she  is  mad  because  you  came 
in  her  way.  And  if  she  can  get  you  out  of  her  way 
she  will." 

"Pauline,  you  are  terrible,"  Peggy  said,  still  in 
the  same  light  voice,  and  with  a  half-pitying,  half- 
humorous  smile  such  as  one  gives  to  an  importunate 
child. 

The  maid  took  no  notice.  "Remember,  madame," 
she  went  on,  "it  was  Lady  Attwill  who  planned 
this  trip  to  the  Engadine.  It  was  her  idea  to  go 
with  Lord  Ellerdine  and  M.  Collingwood.  And 
now  where  are  we?  I  ask  you,  where  are  we?  In 
Paris,  and  she  and  Lord  Ellerdine  in  the  express 
near  Switzerland  by  now.  Madame,  listen  to  me! 
Let  us  go  home  to-morrow;  make  some  excuse  to 
M.  Collingwood — any  will  do." 

At  last  the  Butterfly  seemed  a  little  impressed. 
There  was  such  real  earnestness,  so  much  under- 
lying meaning,  in  Pauline's  voice  that  she  paused 
and  her  eyes  became  thoughtful. 

"It  does  seem  strange,"  she  said. 

Pauline  nodded.  "N'est-ce  pas?  I  feel  as  if  you 
were  in  a  trap." 

The  girl  shivered,  and  her  voice  became  pleading. 
35 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Oh,  Pauline,  do  watch  me!  Look  after  me!  1 
have  no  one  now  but  you !" 

The  old  bonne  kissed  the  delicate,  shrinking  little 
figure.  "La!  la!"  she  said.  "With  my  last  breath 
I  will  shield  you !  Nevertheless,  you  are  a  mischiei 
and  make  some  men  mad.  Oh,  the  things  they  say 
about  you !    But  it  is  only  play." 

"Only  play?" 

"That  is  all,  cherie;  I  am  sure  of  it." 

Peggy  went  up  to  the  fireplace.  "Sometimes," 
she  said,  "I  think  it  is  very  foolish  play.  I  only 
hope  that  it  won't  end  in  tears."  She  looked  down 
at  the  logs — smouldering  now  and  with  no  more 
flame  of  rose-pink  and  amethyst. 

"Tears?     For  you?     Never!" 

Peggy  turned  half  round.  "Pauline — I  am  going 
to  be  sensible.  I  shall  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  I  shall 
become  a  grande  dame,  give  great  entertainments, 
hold  court  at  Admaston  House  in  Hampshire,  and 
at  Castle  Netherby — then  I  shall  not  have  time  to 
make  men  mad !" 

Pauline  clapped  her  hands.  "That  will  be  splen- 
did !"  she  said.    "That  will  make  him  so  happy !" 

"Who,  my  husband?" 

"Exactement.     Monsieur  adores  you." 

"I  wonder?"  Peggy  said  slowly,  more  to  herself 
than  to  Pauline. 

The  maid  nodded.  "Madame,"  she  went  on,  "he 
36 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

is  a  great  big  dog.  You  can  do  anything  with  him. 
He  will  never  bite  nor  snarl,  nor  show  even  a  little 
bit  of  his  teeth." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  he  would,"  Peggy 
replied  in  a  rather  broken  voice.  "I  am  so  lonely, 
Pauline.  Sometimes  I  think  that  his  politics-  don't 
leave  even  a  little  comer  for  me." 

"Bien !"  said  Pauline  with  a  chuckle.  "You  would 
not  feel  lonely,  madame,  unless  you  loved  him." 

Peggy  went  up  to  the  piano,  which  was  open,  and 
struck  two  or  three  resonant  chords.  "Certainly 
there  is  something  in  that,"  she  said  musingly. 

"Yes,  madame,"  Pauline  replied,  "he  is  a  man, 
and  you  are  proud  of  him.  He  is  so  different  from 
all  the  others." 

Peggy's  idle  fingers  rattled  out  a  little  trilling 
catch  from  the  Chanson  Florian.  Suddenly  she 
stopped  and  turned  her  head  swiftly.  "You  do  not 
like  Mr.  Collingwood  ?"  she  asked,  watching  Paul- 
ine's face  intently. 

"Ma  Doue !"  Pauline  answered  in  her  native  Bre- 
ton, "but  I  like  M.  Collingwood  well  enough.  All 
the  women  that  there  are  like  M.  Colling~wood.  He 
is  a  terrible  flirt,  but  he  is  not  wicked.  But  madame 
must  be  careful,  that  is  all.  He  loves  madame  not 
as  he  loves  the  others." 

Peggy  closed  the  lid  of  the  piano  with  a  bang. 

37 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Now,  Pauline,"  she  said,  "don't  be  silly.  Off  you 
go  to  bed.    I  feel  ever  so  tnuch  better  now." 

The  maid  gathered  up  the  brushes  and  the  bottle 
of:jsau-de-cologne  from  the  table  and  took  them  into 
Mrs.  Admaston's  room.  Then  she  returned.  "Good 
night,  madame,"  she  said.  "If  you  want  me,  that 
little  bell  there  rings  in  my  room.  Boone  nuit. 
Dormez  bien,  cherie." 

She  kissed  her  mistress  and  left  the  room. 

Peggy  remained  alone. 


38 


CHAPTER  III 

Mrs.  Admaston  pulled  aside  the  long  curtains  of 
green  silk.  She  turned  the  oblong  handle  which  re- 
leased two  of  the  windows,  pulled  it  towards  her, 
and  drank  in  the  fresh  night  air. 

How  fragrant  and  stimulating  it  was.  How  pure, 
and  how  different  from  the  horrid,  scented  air  of  the 
sitting-room  1 

"  'From  the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight  air  my 
spirit  drinks  repose,'  "  Peggy  quoted  to  herself ;  and 
she  did,  indeed,  seem  to  be  bathed  by  a  sweet  and 
delicate  refreshment,  a  cleansing,  reviving  air,  which 
washed  all  hot  and  feverish  thoughts  away  and  made 
her  one  with  the  stainless  spirit  of  the  night. 

The  black  masses — ^the  black,  blotted  masses — of 
the  trees  in  the  Tuileries  gardens  cut  into  the  sky- 
line. But  even  now,  late  as  it  was,  innumerable 
lights  twinkled  over  Paris,  and  a  big  honey-coloured 
moon,  which  shamed  the  firefly  lights  below,  and 
seemed  almost  like  a  harvest  moon,  had  risen  and 
was  staring  down  upon  the  City  of  Pleasure. 

In  front  of  the  window  was  a  balcony,  and,  lightly 
clad  as  she  was,  the  girl  went  out  upon  it  and  with 

39 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

an  impulsive  gesture  stretched  out  her  arms  to  where 
the  Lamp  of  the  night,  depended  from  a  little  drift 
of  fleecy-white  and  amber-coloured  clouds,  swung 
over  Paris. 

"O  moon,"  she  said,  *'dear,  round,  red  moon,  I 
am  going  to  be  good!  I  really,  really  am.  I  am 
going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf;  I  am  going  .  .  ." 

There  was  a  sharp  whirr,  hard,  metallic,  and  in- 
sistent, from  the  room  behind. 

The  telephone  bell  was  ringing. 

Peggy  started — the  world  called  her  back.  In 
her  mind,  as  it  were,  she  put  down  her  good  resolu- 
tions on  the  balcony  and  hurried  in  to  see  who  had 
rung  her  up. 

She  fluttered  up  to  the  telephone,  caught  the  re- 
ceiver to  her  ear,  and  spoke  breathlessly: 

"Well,  who  is  it?  What?  Yes.  Who  is  it? 
Oh !  Where  are  you  ?  Chalons !  You  have  arrived, 
then?    What?" 

A  voice,  not  over  the  telephone  wire,  but  behind 
her  and  in  the  room,  came  to  Peggy's  disengaged 
ear. 

She  started  violently  and  turned  round  as  if  upon 
a  pivot. 

She  saw  standing  before  her  a  slim,  tall,  clean- 
shaved  man,  anywhere  between  thirty  and  forty, 
lie  was  in  evening  clothes — that  is  to  say,  he  wore 
a  dinner  jacket  and  black  tie.     His  hair  was  dark 

40 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

and  curly  and  grew  low  upon  his  forehead ;  his  eye- 
brows were  beautifully  pencilled;  and  below  them 
two  shrewd,  mocking,  and  yet  somehow  simple  and 
merry  eyes  of  a  brilliant  grey  looked  out  upon  Mrs. 
Admaston.  The  nose  was  aquiline ;  the  lips,  a  trifle 
full,  were  nevertheless  beautifully  shaped.  They 
were  parted  now  in  a  smile. 

"Who  is  it  ?'  Let  me  speak,  Peggy  ?"  Collingwood 
said, 

Peggy  looked  at  him.  "Oh,  how  you  startled 
me!"  she  cried,  with  a  little  shriek  of  alarm  and 
embarrassment.  Then  without  a  further  word  she 
fluttered  towards  the  door  of  her  bedroom,  dropping 
the  receiver  of  the  telephone,  which  hung  by  its 
twisted  cord  and  swung  this  way  and  that. 

Roderick  Collingwood  took  a  couple  of  quick, 
decisive  steps  to  the  wall.  He  caught  up  the  re- 
ceiver. 

"Hello !  That  you,  Ellerdine  ?  Yes,  just  finished 
supper.  What?  What?  2.34  to-night — I  mean 
this  morning?  What  time  do  you  reach  Paris? 
What?— five  o'clock?" 

He  turned  round  to  Peggy,  who  was  standing 
by  her  bedroom  door.  "They  are  coming  on  here," 
he  said. 

"Now?"  the  girl  asked. 

"Yes!  they  get  here  at  five."  He  caught  up  the 
41 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

receiver  again  and  pressed  it  to  his  ear,  leaning 
forward  to  the  mouthpiece. 

"I  say,  Ellerdine — I  say,  why  not  wait  for  us 
at  Chalons?  What?  You  have  decided  not  to  go 
on?    Very  well.    We  will  wait  for  you." 

He  placed  the  receiver  of  the  telephone  back  upon 
its  rest,  and  turned  the  handle  to  ring  off.  Then 
he  looked  at  Peggy,  walking  slowly  towards  her  as 
he  spoke. 

"Ellerdine  is  vexed,"  he  said. 

Peggy's  face  was  the  most  alluring  pink,  her  eyes 
looked  angry. 

"Please  leave  the  room,"  she  said. 

Collingwood  stopped.  "I  am  sorry,"  he  said.  "I 
heard  the  telephone  ring,  and  before  I  knew  where 
I  was  .  .  ." 

Peggy  cut  him  short,  pointing  to  the  door  on  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  room,  the  door  not  far  from 
that  which  led  into  the  corridor.  "Is  that  your 
room?"  taking  a  couple  of  steps  towards  him. 

"Yes,"  the  dark  man  answered;  "the  hotel  was 
full — it  was  the  only  room  left  Don't  be  vexed, 
Peggy." 

The  girl's  face  had  a  sort  of  hard  impatience  in 
it,  though  mingled  with  something  else  also — some- 
thing very  difficult  to  define.  "Wait,"  she  said. 
"That  door  was  locked  when  I  tried  it  before  you 
came  in  to  supper.    Did  you  unlock  it?" 

42 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Mr.  Collingwood  laughed  a  pleasant,  musical 
laugh,  which  seemed  to  resolve  the  somewhat  tragic 
note  of  Mrs.  Admaston's  voice  into  nothing — to 
make  it  seem  rather  unnecessary  and  absurd.  It  was 
a  thoroughly  boyish  laugh. 

"Why,  Peggy,"  he  said,  "what  a  very  serious 
mood  you  are  in !  Unlock  it  ?  Of  course  I  unlocked 
it,  when  I  heard  you  at  the  telephone.  I  thought 
you  would  not  mind.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  know 
what  Ellerdine  was  up  to.  Come,  come,  Peggy ;  this 
is  not  the  first  time  we  have  been  together  so  late." 

Peggy  looked  at  him  with  wide  eyes.  "Oh,  but  it 
is  different,"  she  said ;  "we  are  in  a  strange  hotel — 
by  accident.    Colling,  it  was  by  accident,  wasn't  it  ?" 

He  started,  bent  forward  a  little,  and  answered 
her  with  great  eagerness. 

"Of  course,  of  course;  surely  you  did  not 
think " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I  thought;  but  I  feel  so 
funny,  so  nervous." 

Collingwood  laughed  again — really,  it  was  the 
most  reassuring  and  musical  laugh,  "Peggy  ner- 
vous?" 

"Well,  it  is  rather  alarming,"  Peggy  replied. 

Collingwood  laughed  once  more,  and  stepped  up 
towards  her.  "But  rather  nice — isn't  it  rather  nice? 
—what,  Peggy?" 

There  was  something  so  irresistibly  amusing  in 

43 


A  BUITERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

his  voice  and  smile  that  Mrs.  Admaston  began  to 
bubble  over  with  laughter. 

"Isn't  it  rather  nice?"  he  went  on,  crossing  over 
to  the  little  switch-board  and  putting  out  the  big 
central  light  which  depended  from  the  roof.  "Isn't 
it  rather  nice  ?" 

Peggy  had  entrenched  herself  behind  the  little 
table  on  which  supper  had  been  laid.  She  was  ob- 
viously tremendously  amused,  but  she  made  a  great 
effort  to  be  serious.  "Colling!"  she  said,  "it  is  mad. 
Supposing  anybody  knew!" 

Collingwood  was  quite  calm.  He  treated  the 
whole  thing  as  if  it  were  the  most  ordinary  occasion. 
He  strolled  lazily  over  to  the  fireplace,  took  a  cig- 
arette-case from  his  pocket,  a  cigarette  from  it,  and 
struck  a  light. 

"How  can  anyone  know?"  he  asked. 

Peggy  seemed  alarmed  once  more. 

"No!  Colling,  please  don't  light  a  cigarette.  It 
is  too  late.    I  must  go  to  bed." 

CoUingwood's  only  answer  was  to  blow  out  a 
cloud  of  smoke,  to  cross  over  to  the  sofa  and  throw 
himself  upon  it. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said.  "Don't  be  unkind,  Peggy. 
Just  one  cigarette.  Just  one,  in  fiont  of  the  fire — 
which,  by  the  way,  is  out, — and  then  bye-byes." 

"Well,  one  cigarette,  but  only  one,"  Peggy  said. 

Collingwood  sat  up.  "Good  little  Peggy,"  he 
44 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

said  in  a  low,  quiet  voice ;  and  then,  raising  his  head, 
he  looked  at  her  intently  with  his  brilliant  grey 
eyes. 

Peggy  looked  him  straight  in  the  face  also,  and 
then  the  spirit  of  mischief,  the  excitement  of  this 
odd  meeting,  got  the  better  of  her  prudence.  She 
came  to  the  back  of  the  sofa  and  leant  over  it. 
"Isn't  Peggy  going  to  have  one?"  she  said. 

The  man  took  his  cigarette-case  from  his  waist- 
coat pocket,  opened  it,  and  gave  her  a  cigarette. 
Her  face  was  tantalisingly  close  to  his,  and  she 
noticed,  well  enough,  that  his  hand  was  trembling 
as  he  did  so.  She  kept  her  face  close  to  his  just 
half  a  moment  longer  than  the  situation  required. 

Collingwood's  voice  began  to  shake  also.  "Now, 
Peggy,  you  little  devil,"  he  said. 

"Why  is  Peggy  a  little. devil?" 

With  a  slim  brown  hand,  which,  despite  all  the 
man's  sang-froid,  still  shook  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind, 
he  lit  the  cigarette  for  the  girl,  looking  up  into  her 
face  as  he  did  so. 

"Either  I  mistake  your  shape  and  making  quite, 
Or  else  you  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite 
Called  Robin  Goodfcllow." 

There  came  a  little  bubble  of  laughter  from 
Peggy,  which  seemed  to  remove  all  diffidence  from 
CoUingwood.  "How  are  you,  my  friend  Puck?" 
he  said. 

45 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Peggy  perched  herself  upon  the  head  of  the  sofa. 
"Oh,  Puck  was  an  imp  of  mischief,"  she  said. 

"Well?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  puffed  her  cigarette  contentedly  for  a 
few  seconds;  then  she  bent  towards  him,  swinging 
her  little  brown-shoed  foot.  "Tell  me,  Colling," 
she  asked :  "why  weren't  my  boxes  registered  ?" 

"Well — of  all  the  suspicious  little  demons  I  ever 
came  across !    Registered  ?" 

"Yes,  registered." 

"Well,  I  suppose  that  fool  of  a  porter  at  Charing 
Cross  forgot  to  do  it,"  CoUingwood  replied. 

"It  was  a  bit  of  luck,  wasn't  it?"  Peggy  said. 

CoUingwood  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something 
else.  He  was  gazing  at  the  end  of  his  cigarette  and 
not  looking  at  her  at  all.  "Yes,"  he  said  in  an 
absent-minded  voice. 

"I  wonder "  Peggy  went  on;  and  then  sud- 
denly she  stopped,  and  CoUingwood  looked  up  with 
a  start. 

"I  wonder,"  Peggy  continued,  "what  the  Attwill 
will  think?" 

"Think  ?"  he  answered.  "She  can  jolly  well  think 
what  she  likes." 

"I  don't  much  mind  what  she  thinks,"  Peggy 
said;  "but  I'll  bet  she's  put  some  rotten  idea  into 
Ellerdine's  head.  Colling,  I  don't  like  her — really 
I  don't" 

46 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Although  Pegg>'  did  not  notice  it,  the  man's  voice 
became  slightly  strained.  The  lips  assumed  an  ap- 
pearance of  somewhat  exaggerated  indifference,  but 
there  was  a  glint  of  watchfulness  in  the  eyes. 

"You  don't  like  Lady  Attwill?"  he  said. 

"That's  it,"  Peggy  replied.  "Where  does  she  get 
her  money  from?" 

Collingwood  started  slightly.  The  girl  did  not 
notice  it.     "I  don't  know,"  he  said  a  little  uneasily. 

"Is  that  true.  Colling?"  Peggy  asked,  with  mis- 
chief in  her  eyes. 

"By  the  way,  has  she  any?"  Collingwood  asked. 

"Well,  if  she  hasn't,  how  does  she  do  it?" 

"By  her  wits,  my  dear." 

"Ellerdine  doesn't  go  in  for  wits,"  Peggy  re- 
marked. 

"Poor,  dear  Dicky!  he  is  the  diplomatic  failure  of 
the  century." 

"I  suppose  he  is,  but  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows 
nobody  good.    The  Empire's  loss  is  Attwill's  gain." 

Collingwood  laughed.  "Well,"  he  said,  "she's  the 
only  post  he  has  been  able  to  keep." 

"I  don't  know  that  he  can  afford  to  keep  any- 
thing.    Can  he  be  in  love  with  her,  do  you  think?" 

Collingwood  puffed  slowly  at  his  cigarette. 

"My  dear  Peggy,"  he  said,  looking  her  up  and 
down  with  a  curious  meditative  gaze — "my  dear 
Peggy,  if  a  man  loves  a  woman  he  doesn't  leave 

47 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

a  comfortable  hotel  to  travel  all  night  in  a  slow 
train  with  her.  Ellerdine  is  as  likely  to  spend  his 
money  on  a  home  for  lost  cats  as  on  the  Attwill." 

"She's  a  very  attractive  cat,"  Peggy  said. 

"He  doesn't  care  two  straws  about  her,"  Colling- 
wood  replied  quite  definitely. 

"Then  why  did  he  come?" 

"To  please  you — for  no  other  reason." 

"Anyway,  I  don't  like  her,"  Peggy  said.  "Do 
you  ?    I  believe  you  do.  Colling." 

Collingwood  jumped  up  from  the  sofa.  "Now, 
stop  that,  Peggy,"  he  said. 

The  glint  of  mischief  in  Peggy's  eyes  glowed 
more  strongly.  "She's  a  very  attractive  woman," 
she  said. 

"Well,  she's  not  the  sort  of  woman  who  attracts 
me,"  Collingwood  replied,  sitting  down  again  upon 
the  couch  and  tapping  impatiently  with  his  foot 
upon  the  carpet.  He  seemed  disturbed,  unea^sy, 
under  the  influence  of  some  suppressed  emotion. 

Peggy  stroked  her  nose  with  one  little  finger,  and 
then  she  leant  down  towards  Collingwood.  "What 
sort  of  woman  attracts  you?"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

Again  the  man  jumped  up,  and  a  keen  observer 
would  have  noticed  that  tiny  beads  of  perspiration 
had  come  out  upon  his  forehead  like  seed  pearls. 

48 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Peggy,"  he  cried,  "you  are  a  tantalising  little 
fiend!" 

Peggy  shook  with  laughter.  She  was  absolutely 
happy.  "I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  said  that," 
she  bubbled. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  and  into  his  voice  came 
something  of  deep  yearning,  and  the  note  of  passion 
restrained  till  now,  broke  through  all  reserves  and 
all  defences  at  last. 

"Why  not?"  he  said.  Again  his  voice  grew  in 
emotional  force  and  power.  "Why  not,  Peggy? 
I  love  you  when  you  are  in  this  mood.  I  love  you 
in  all  your  moods,  dear." 

Peggy  slid  down  from  the  end  of  the  sofa  and 
moved  a  little  way  towards  the  door  of  her  bed- 
room. "What  about  that  cigarette?"  she  asked, 
and  there  was  a  distinct  note  of  nervousness  in  her 
voice. 

She  had  provoked  the  beginnings  of  passion,  and, 
having  done  so,  womanlike,  she  was  startled  and 
afraid. 

"Cigarette,"  he  said.  "Oh,  I  haven't  finished  it 
yet.     But  listen!  Peggy  darling,  you  must  listen!" 

She  was  really  startled  now.  "Not  to-night, 
Colling;  you  promised,"  she  said.  "Now,  Colling, 
go — please  go!" 

"I  can't  go,  Peggy;  I  love  you  so!"  he  answered. 

"Please,  Colling,  don't  talk  like  that !" 

49 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Now  his  voice  became  almost  dogged,  though  it 
lost  nothing  of  its  power.  "I  can't  help  it,"  he  said ; 
"I  love  you!" 

The  girl  clutched  nervously  at  her  tea-gown  and 
shrank  back  nearer  yet  to  the  door. 

"Don't  talk  of  love,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

He  took  three  quick  steps  up  to  her,  and  again 
she  shrank  away,  not  this  time  into  the  sure  defence 
of  her  bedroom,  but  towards  the  window. 

"Don't  talk  of  love  ?"  he  said,  and  his  voice  rever- 
berated and  rang  with  feeling.  "Why  not?  It  is 
in  the  air — the  very  night  is  charged  with  love.  You 
cannot  look  out  on  a  night  like  this  and  not  think  of 
love." 

"Don't,  Colling;  you  frighten  me,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  but  why  should  my  love  frighten  you,  my 
Peggy?  My  darling,  it  is  brightness,  tenderness, 
and  love  that  you  want.  I  know  how  monotonous 
and  dull  your  life  must  be.  Good  God!  don't  I 
know  it?  Am  I  not  always  thinking  of  it?  Poor 
little  Butterfly !  What  a  flutter  you  make  to  be  free, 
to  warm  your  dainty  wings  in  sunny  places !  Peggy, 
sweetheart,  I  want  to  show  you  the  sunny  places." 

"Please  go.  Colling!"  she  said,  and  her  flute-like 
voice  was  tremulous  with  fear.  "Please  go.  Colling ! 
It  isn't  fair.  I  am  afraid.  You  see,  I  am  so  fond  of 
you,  and  I  am  such  a  little  Butterfly  1" 

He  held  out  his  hands  towards  her,  palms  up- 
50 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

wards,  with  a  curious  foreign  gesture  which  showed 
how  greatly  he  was  moved.  "I  can't  go,  Peggy,"  he 
said.  "I  want  you  so  badly — want  you  for  my  own 
— to-night — to-morrow,  all  the  nights  and  all  the 
days.  I  have  been  very  good.  I  have  always  done 
what  you  have  told  me.  I  have  come  and  gone 
just  exactly  as  the  whim  has  struck  you.  Ah!  you 
know  how  deeply,  how  dearly  I  love  you !" 

She  moved  past  him  with  a  sudden,  gliding  step, 
and  placed  the  settee  between  them. 

"I  only  know  you  are  my  friend,  my  very  dear 
friend,"  she  said. 

"No !  no !  no !"  he  cried,  coming  after  her. 

"Yes — only  that  friend!" 

"Lover!  Peggy,"  he  said  passionately.  "I  am  a 
man — devoured  by  love  of  you.     I  have  waited  for 

you — longed    for   you — and    now "       With    a 

sudden  movement  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  strain- 
ing her  to  him  wildly,  showering  kisses  upon  the 
shining  coronet  of  her  hair.  "We're  alone,  Peggy," 
he  cried,  "just  you  and  I !"  and  his  voice  rang  with 
triumph.  "We're  alone!  There  are  no  others  in 
the  world — no  others  I  You  are  mine,  Peggy,  mine 
at  last!" 

She  struggled  in  his  arms,  her  face  pale  as  linen, 
her  voice  with  a  note  of  almost  shrill  alarm. 

"Colling,  I  can't  bear  it — you  will  spoil  every- 
51 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

thing.  Do  help  me,  Colling!  I  don't  love  you  like 
that.    I'm  sorry  if  it  hurts  you.     I'd  rather  die." 

There  was  a  note  in  her  voice  of  such  absolute 
sincerity,  mingled  with  fear,  that  he  opened  his  arms 
and  let  her  flutter  away. 

The  passion  upon  his  face  changed  and  melted 
into  something  else. 

"My  God!"  he  cried.  "You  would  rather 
die " 

He  stumbled  rather  than  walked  towards  the  sofa 
and  sat  down  upon  it,  burying  his  face  in  his  long 
lean  hands,  that  trembled  exceedingly. 

"My  God!"  she  heard  him  whisper  to  himself; 
"she  would  rather  die !  .  .  .'* 

Peggy  had  followed  him,  and  she  stood  at  the 
end  of  the  sofa,  aghast  at  what  she  had  done.  She 
began  to  speak  slowly  and  nervously. 

"Colling,  don't  do  that.  I  really  can't  bear  that 
you  should  think  me  unkind.  I  like  you  too  well 
.to  let  you  do  anything  that  would  spoil  our  hap- 
piness. I  am  not  unkind — really  I  am  not.  Have 
not  I  shown  how  fond  of  you  I  am  ?  We  have  been 
such  good  friends !" 

"Friends!"  he  said  bitterly,  without  looking  up 
from  his  hands. 

His  voice  was  so  cold,  so  charged  with  misery 
and  sudden  realisation,  that  it  cut  the  girl  to  the 
heart.     She  went  round  from  the;  back  of  the  sofa 

52 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON^  THE  WHEEL 

and  knelt  at  his  feet,  stretchier  out  her  hand  timidly, 
and  touching  the  sleeve  of  his  coat 

"Colling,  dear,  what  else  can  we  be?''  she  said. 

He  looked  down  at  her,  and  for  a  moment  his 
voice  did  not  soften.  There  was  a  quiet,  dogged 
misery  in  it. 

"We  have  passed  the  merely  friendship  line,"  he 
said;  "and  you  know  that  well  enough,  Peggy. 
That  has  been  passed  a  long  time.  You  would  not 
have  left  London  with  me  if  we  had  only  been 
friends  and  nothing  more.  Were  we  only  friends 
when  we  used  to  sit  up  together  night  after  night 
at  Ellerdine's  house?  Do  'friends'  speak  to  each 
other  as  we  have  spoken?  Why,  you  have  only  to 
touch  my  hand  to  know  that  I  burn  with  longing." 

"Colling,  you  mustn't  say  such  things  T' 

He  jumped  up  roughly,  leaving  her  kneeling 
upon  the  fk)or,  and  passed  with  rapid  steps  to  the 
window. 

"Friends!"  he  cried,  and  his  voice  had  a  razor 
edge  to  it  "Friends!  It's  not  true!  Do  friends 
nm  the  risks  that  we  have  run?  For  God's  sake, 
here  and  now  let  us  be  honest  with  each  other. 
Why,  we  haven't  even  tried  to  fool  society!  For 
Heaven's  sake,  Peggy,  don't  let's  try  to  fool  our- 
selves !" 

Peggy  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  trembling  all  over. 

53 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Colling-!  oh,  Colling!"  she  said  in  a  piteous  voice, 
"surely  people  don't  think  we  are " 

"People  don't  think!  People  are  only  too  glad 
to  think.  You  know  well  enough  what  is  said  about 
others ■" 

Her  face  grew  paler  still,  her  eyes  were  wide 
with  fear  and  slowly  dawning  realisation.  She 
clasped  both  hands  to  her  breast,  and  the  light  shone 
upon  the  rubies  set  in  the  old  Moorish  bracelets  that 
she  was  wearing. 

"Oh!"  she  said. 

He  came  up  to  her  again, 

"Peggy,  you  don't  care,  do  you?" 

"Don't  care.  Colling!"  she  gasped.  "Tell  me, 
do  people  think  we  are " 

"Think! — how  can  they  help  thinking  it? 
Haven't  we  given  them  every  reason?" 

"No,  no,  no!  Oh!  I  hate  to  think  of  that!  We 
have  only  been  very  fond  friends.  Why  should 
they  think  otherwise?" 

There  were  tears  of  agony  in  her  voice.  She  kept 
clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands. 

"Oh!  I  suppose  it  is  all  my  fault,"  she  said 
brokenly — "all  my  fault.  I  don't  think  ungenerous 
things  of  others.  I  have  been  too  trusting — too 
confiding.  Why  should  people  thing  such  things? 
I  only  wanted  a  good  friend,  a  companion." 

He  still  stood  by  her,  looking  at  her  keenly,  and 
54 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

the  bitterness  in  his  voice  did  not  die  away. 
"Friends!  Oh  yes,  I  know!  You  wanted  some- 
one to  pet  you,  to  pamper  you.  What  you  wanted 
was  someone  to  satisfy  all  your  vanities — your 
yearning  for  devotion,  for  adulation,  for  sense  of 
power.  I  know !  You  wanted  all  the  joys  and  none 
of  the  risks.  That  simis  up  the  whole  thing  in  a 
nutshell.  There  are  lots  of  women  like  you.  They 
drive  men  mad — make  drunkards,  gamblers,  swin- 
dlers of  them.  I  have  seen  it  often  enough.  I  have 
seen  men  fall  out  and  lose  themselves  among  the 
army  of  crooks  that  throng  the  second-rate  shows. 
But  I  won't  let  you  drive  me  mad." 

The  bitterness  in  his  voice  was  terrible.  His 
words  seemed  to  scourge  her,  to  lash  her  like  a 
whip.  She  stared  at  him  in  helpless  amazement  and 
misery.  He  had  paused  in  his  rapid  torrent  of 
speech,  and  as  he  saw  her  distress  he  seemed  to 
be  a  little  touched. 

"Peggy!"  he  said,  and  once  more  the  note  of 
passion  came  into  his  voice,  while  the  anger  died 
out  of  it — "Peggy!  I  mean  you  to  be  mine.  There 
will  be  a  crash  soon — that  is  certain.  Admaston 
will  take  notice  of  what  everybody  is  saying  about 
us.  He  will  come  out  of  his  political  shell,  wake 
up,  do  things,  put  an  end  to  it  at  once  and  for 
ever!" 

55 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Oh,  my  God!  What  have  I  doneT  the  girl 
cried. 

"Done!  What  have  you  done  to  deserve  your 
husband's  neglect?  Why,  he  doesn't  even  know 
that  you  exist  His  heart  beats  by  Act  of  Parha- 
ment.  He'd  a  thousand  times  rather  address  a 
village  meeting  than  spend  an  hour  in  your  com- 
pany. Are  you  to  pass  your  youth  in  the  company 
of " 

"Stop!  stop!"  she  cried.  "Say  what  jrou  like 
about  me — scold  me  if  you  like,  but  say  nothing 
against  him.  You  do  not  know  my  husband.  We 
are  neither  of  us  fit  to  mention  his  name.  He  is 
a  big  man,  and  he  loves  me." 

"But,  Peggy,  you  won't  say  that  you  love  him?" 
Collingwood  said,  with  a  curious  note  of  perplexity 
in  his  voice.  The  situation,  tragic  as  it  was,  got 
a  little  bit  beyond  him. 

"Love  him?"  she  answered.  "I  don't  know.  I 
have  had  no  chance  to  love  anyone  the  way  you 
regard  love." 

Cc^ingwood  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets, 
swung  round  upon  his  heels  and  swung  back 
again.  "I  see,"  he  said ;  "you  mean  you  don't  love 
Admaston,  and  won't  love  anybody  else?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Peggy  replied;  "but  I  cer- 
tainly don't  love  anybody  else.  You  think  I  am 
n^ccted.    That  is  absurd.    It  was  my  father's  wish 

56 


A  BUn'ERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

that  we  should  marry.  George  knew  that  I  did  not 
love  him.  He  trusts  me  fully.  There  will  be  no 
crash." 

He  heard  the  note  in  her  voice  which  told  him 
that  she  was  trying  to  persuade  herself  that  her  fears 
were  groundless,  and  smiled  rather  grimly. 

"There  will  be,"  he  said.  "You  take  my  word 
for  it.  No  man — not  even  Admaston — can  stand 
ridicule  for  long.  Remember,  I  mean  to  win  you. 
I  shall  marry  no  one  if  I  don't  marry  you." 

She  tried  to  speak  lightly. 

"Colling,  don't  be  so  silly!  You  are  one  of  the 
best  matches  in  England.  You  will  marry  a  beau- 
tiful girl  who  will  lead  society  and  make  you  a  very 
proud  and  ambitious  man.  Don't  shake  your  head 
— ^that's  only  because  you  want  to  be  gallant. 
Heavens!  how  I  would  do  things  if  I  were  a  man! 
You,  with  all  your  talents  and  your  money,  ought 
to  rise  to  any  position." 

"You  are  mad  about  position,"  he  said  impa- 
tiently. 

"Yes,"  Peggy  answered.  "I  like  men  who  have 
some  big  purpose  in  life  and  who  figiit  the  world 
and  win." 

"Like  George  Admaston!"  Collingwood  an- 
swered, and  now  for  the  first  time  there  came  a  glint 
of  malicious  and  real  ill-humour  over  his  face.  It 
came  and  passed  in  a  second,  but  it  had  been  there. 

57 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

**Yes,"  Peggy  replied;  "like  George  Admaston! 
He  is  a  fighter,  Colling.  I  think  many  women 
would  love  George.  He  is  not  the  butterfly  type — 
but " 

"But  he  has  all  the  luck,"  Collingwood  broke  in 
fiercely.  "I  could  do  anything  if  you  were  with 
me.  I  must  have  something — or  someone — to  fight 
for.  My  nature  must  be  baffled.  There  must  be 
obstacles  in  the  way  for  me.  I  have  a  wicked  streak 
in  me  somewhere  that  turns  red  when  I  can't  get 
what  I  want.  Peggy,  you  must  let  Admastc«i  get 
a  divorce.'* 

The  words  seemed  to  strike  her  dumb.  All  colour 
had  left  her  face  long  since,  but  now  almost  all  ex- 
pression went  from  it  also  for  a  moment.  It  was 
as  if  she  had  been  struck  some  paralysing  blow. 

He  was  watching  her  keenly,  and  as  he  noted  the 
effect  of  his  words  a  spasm  of  pain  went  through 
him,  though  he  showed  nothing  of  it  in  his  face 
or  manner.  He  loved  her,  he  loved  her  dearly; 
there  was  no  doubt  about  that  He  hated  to  give 
her  pain,  yet  he  felt  he  was  being  crud  only  to  be 
kind.  She  must  face  the  situation  once  and  for 
all,  and  then  perhaps  everything  might  be  right. 
The  situation,  serious  as  it  was,  was  very  largely 
of  his  own  creation.  Seeing  no  other  way,  he  had 
ddiberatdy  endeavoured  to  compromise  Mrs.  Ad- 
maston.    All  his  plans,  all  his  ideas,  had  been  di- 

58 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

reeled  to  this  end.  He  wanted  to  force  her  hus- 
band's hand  and  to  marry  Peggy  after  the  divcwce. 
He  loved  her  wildly,  madly,  passionately.  He 
would  have  been  a  perfect  husband  to  her — there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  that. 

But  his  love  was  selfish.  In  order  to  win  this 
woman  for  his  own  he  was  ready  to  subject  her 
to  all  the  indignities  and  all  the  shame  of  a  process 
in  the  courts.  In  his  overmastering  desire,  her 
reputation,  her  honour,  mattered  nothing  to  him. 
It  was  she  that  he  wanted,  and  any  means  should 
be  taken  to  achieve  that  end. 

Men  like  Roderick  Collingwood  have  few  guiding 
principles  in  life,  save  only  those  of  their  own 
appetites.  Of  course,  the  public  school  and  the 
university  have  given  them  a  certain  code.  They 
must  pay  their  gambling  debts,  they  must  do  various 
other  things  of  that  sort;  but  as  far  as  any  con- 
ception of  the  morality  and  decency,  which  have 
made  England  what  it  is,  is  concerned,  they  are 
absolutely  without  it 

He  nodded  at  Peggy,  driving  home  the  words. 

"Divorce!  Oh,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that.  You 
know  how  it  hurts  me,"  she  said  at  last,  when  she 
had  recovered  a  little.  Really,  really,  you  are  mis- 
taken. I  am  quite  satisfied  with  my  life — only, 
sometimes  when  I  am  foolish  I  feel  just  a  bit  lonely 
and  neglected." 

59 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

He  turned  on  her  almost  with  a  sneer.  He 
was  bitterly  hurt  and  angry,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
that,  from  his  point  of  view,  he  had  reason  for 
complaint.  She  had  led  him  cm.  She  had  flirted 
outrageously  with  him.  She  had  deliberately  done 
her  best  to  be  provocative.  Her  intentions,  doubt- 
less, were  innocent  enough  as  far  as  any  dishonour 
to  her  husband  entered  into  the  question.  But  her 
love  of  adulation,  her  vanity,  her  desire  of  power, 
were  all  gratified  by  her  conquest  of  him;  while  at 
the  same  tinre  she  still  had  a  real  and  genuine  friend- 
ship for  a  man  who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  essen- 
tially charming,  good-natured,  and  kind. 

"Then  you  have  deceived  me!"  he  cried. 

"Colling,  don't  say  that.     I  never  meant " 

"Never  meant?  Good  heavens!  I  told  you  six 
months  ago  that  I  loved  you,  and  ever  since  then 
you  have  let  me  go  here  and  there  with  you,  and  I 
have  told  you  of  my  love  again  and  again." 

"But  you  have  always  been  so  good.  You  have 
never  been  tmkind  to  me  before  to-night." 

"Good  God!  Unkind!  Why,  most  men  would 
have  divorced  their  wives  on  far  less  evidence  than 
we  have  furnished.  And  all  the  while  you  have 
accepted  the  position  without  a  murmur.  You  don't 
know  what  you  have  done." 

"Colling,  what  do  you  mean?^ 

**Mean?"  he  answered.  "I  mean  that  you  have 
60 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

led  me  to  believe  that  you  didn't  care  what  wc 
did — what  people  said  about  us.  Mean?  I  mean 
that  the  call  of  love  is  in  the  spring,  Peggy,  whis- 
pering to  you  and  me.  Mean?  I  mean  that  I  am 
a  man  and  you  are  a  woman — our  souls  stand  bare 
to  one  another — that  I  love  you  and  that  you  love 
me. 

He  sprang  at  her  and  caught  her  up  in  his  arms 
once  more. 

"I  don't  love  you.  Colling!  Let  me  go!"  she 
cried. 

"I  can't  let  you  go!  It  is  my  hour!  It  is  your 
fault  as  well  as  mine  1  Kiss  me,  Peggy !  You  have 
tortured  mc  long  enough !    Kiss  me !" 

He  held  her  tight,  tight !  His  face  blazed.  There 
was  a  fury  in  his  voice. 

At  that  very  moment  when  he  stopped  speaking 
and  was  gazing  down  at  her,  while  she  lay  for  a 
moment  almost  passive  in  his  arms  after  her  first 
fight  and  struggle,  a  loud,  sharp,  clear  sound  rang 
out  in  the  room.  It  was  the  bell  of  the  telephone 
upon  the  wall. 

"Ellerdine!"  Peggy  said. 

"Let  him  ring,"  Collingwood  answered. 

They  stood  there  for  another  moment  clasped  to- 
gether, and  once  more  the  insistent  summons  of  the 
bell  came. 

"No,  no,"  Peggy  cried;  "answer  him,  i^ease!" 
6i 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

With  an  odd,  instinctive  gesture  Collingwood  put 
his  arm  right  round  her.  Before  he  had  been  strain- 
ing her  to  him  passionately.  Now  there  was  some- 
thing protective  in  his  attitude. 

And  again  the  bell  whirred. 

At  last  with  great  reluctance  Collingwood  stq^d 
up  to  the  wall  and  caught  up  the  receiver. 

"Well,  well!*'  he  said.  "Who  is  it?  What! 
Ad Admaston!" 

A  voice  which  was  robbed  of  all  ordinary  qual- 
ities shivered  out  into  the  room. 

"My  husband!"  said  Peggy. 

Collingwood  made  a  warning  gesture  with  his  left 
hand,  telling  her  to  keep  quiet. 

"Yes,"  he  said ;  "we  took  the  wrong  train.  Yes, 
CcUingwood.    Yes,  it  is  he  speaking." 

"Where  is  he?*'  came  hissing  to  the  ears  of  the 
man  at  liie  telephone.  Again  he  motioned  her  to 
silence,  giving  a  slight  impatient  tap  with  his  foot 
upon  the  carpet. 

"Oh  yes.  We  have  just  finished  supper.  What? 
I  can't  hear  you  distinctly.  You  want  to  speak  to 
Ellerdine?    Hold  the  line  a  moment;  I'll  call  him." 

He  put  down  the  receiver  upon  the  table  and 
ran  up  to  Peggy,  who  was  shaking  like  a  leaf  in 
the  wind. 

"He  wants  to  speak  to  you,  too,  I  think,"  Colling- 
62 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

wood  said  in  a  low,  fierce  whisper;  "but  perhaps 
you  had  better  not." 

"I  can't,"  Peggy  answered,  swaying  this  way  and 
that  as  if  abcxit  to  fall.  He  put  out  his  arm  and 
steadied  her. 

"All  right,  darling,"  he  said;  "it  is  all  right T 

"Where  is  he  ?    London  ?"  she  said. 

"I  didn't  ask,"  he  replied.     "Wait  a  minute  T' 

He  hurried  to  the  telephone  again.  "Hello !  El- 
lerdine  has  just  gone  out.  Hello!  Where  are  you 
speaking  from?  Damn!  We're  cut  ofif.  Hdlo! 
Hello!" 

He  listened  for  nearly  half  a  minute,  taut  and 
strained  as  a  greyhotmd  on  the  leash;  then  he  fliaig 
the  receiver  angrily  upcMi  the  bracket 

"We're  cut  off,"  he  repeated,  looking  at  her  al- 
most stupidly,  as  if  the  situation  was  beyond  him. 

Collingwood  said  nothing  for  a  little  time.  At 
last  he  spoke.  **I  didn't  think  of  that,"  he  said. 
**Can  he  have  had  us " 

"What?    What?''  she  almost  shrieked. 

"Followed?" 

He  plunged  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his 
dinner-jacket  and  bent  his  liead,  thinking  deeply. 
Then  he  looked  up  at  Peggy.  "Peggy,"  he  said  at 
length,  "rumour — ^he  has  been  ridiculed  into  action 
— the  crash  has  come." 

The  girl  held  out  both  hands  towards  him  as  if 
63 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

wardmg  off  a  blow.  "Go,  go!"  she  cried;  "please 
go!  I  sha'n't  speak  another  word  to  you  to-night. 
Go  at  CMice!^ 

'1  can't  leave  you  now,  Peggy.  I  just  worship 
you." 

"I  shall  ring  for  my  maid,"  she  said,  and  moved 
towards  the  bell-push. 

"No,  don't  do  that.  Don't  be  cruel,  Peggy !"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  instinct  with  agonised  pleading. 
"Don't  be  cruel,  Peggy!    No,  no!    Don't  ring!" 

"I  shall,"  she  said  firmly,  and  stretched  out  her 
hand. 

"Peggy,  trust  me.  I  love  you  better  than  any- 
thing in  the  world — better  than  myself.  For  you  I 
will  sacrifice  wealth,  honour." 

"Honour !"  she  cried. 

"I'll  do  anything  to  win  you.  Everything  I  have 
done  has  been  to  win  you — to  have  you  for  my 
own.  You  know  it  is  true.  Peggy,  before  God,  I 
believed  that  you  loved  me  too.  Don't  judge  me 
harshly— oh,  don't  do  that!" 

Peggy  put  out  her  hand  and  pressed  the  bell- 
push. 

"I  must  be  alone,"  she  said  in  a  dull,  mulHed 
voice. 

He  saw  that  it  was  useless,  that  he  had  failed, 
that  the  plans  of  mc«iths  had  all  miscarried,  that 
everything  was  over  for  him  as  far  as  she  was  con- 

64 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

cerned.  Undisciplined  as  his  nature  was,  baffled  and 
disowned  as  he  felt,  he  nevertheless  showed  himself 
rather  fine  in  that  moment.  He  made  an  almost 
superhuman  effort  at  self-control — and  succeeded. 

"All  right,  Peggy  dear,"  he  said.  "Don't  be 
afraid.  Everything  will  come  right.  Good  night." 
With  one  last  lingering  look  at  her  he  left  the 
room,  closing  the  door  which  led  into  his  own. 

Peggy  sank  down  upon  the  sofa  almost  over- 
mastered by  her  rising  hysteria,  limp  and  half  un- 
conscious, ^ 

She  lay  there  breathing  hurriedly,  and  with  her 
eyes  closed,  when  the  corridor  door  opened  and 
Pauline  came  rapidly  into  the  room. 

"Madame!"  she  cried. 

Peggy  gave  one  great  sob  of  relief. 

*^Pauline! — ^you  have  not  gone  to  bed?^ 

"No,  madame!  I  was  so  anxious  about  you  I 
could  not  sleep." 

"Oh,  my  head  is  bursting  .f"  tlie  girl  cried ;  "there 
is  a  pain  like  the  thrust  of  a  sword  in  my  head." 

"Poor  darling!"  Pauline  said,  her  voice  guttural 
with  excitement,  her  trembling  hands  passing  over 
the  young  giri's  form  with  loving,  frightened  ca- 
resses. "Poor  darling!  There  is  something  alto- 
gether wrong.  Just  now,  when  I  came  down,  I 
saw  a  man  standing  at  your  door  listening." 

"At  that  door?" 

65 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

*^es.  Twice  I  have  seen  him  to-day.  He  was 
at  Boulogne;  I  saw  him  looking  at  your  boxes. 
Then  just  after  supper  he  came  in — when  I  was 
speaking  to  the  waiter." 

'Then  we  have  been  followed,"  Peggy  answered, 
breaking  down  utterly.  "Pauline,  I  feel  that  some- 
thing dreadful  is  going  to  happen.  Stay  with  me — 
don't  go  back  to  your  room.  Soothe  me,  Pauline, 
as  you  used  to  when  I  was  little  and  afraid  of  the 
dark.'* 


66 


CHAPTER  IV 

It  was  about  nme  o'clock  the  next  morning.  The 
heat  of  the  nig-ht  before  had  given  place  to  that 
incomparable  freshness  which  spring  mornings  have 
in  Paris. 

The  windows  of  Mrs.  Admaston's  sitting-room 
were  open,  and  a  delightfully  scented  air,  from  the 
lilac  blossoms  and  all  the  flowers  of  the  gardens  in 
the  Tuileries,  flooded  and  floated  into  the  room. 

Rooms  have  an  aspect  of  this  or  that  emotion 
according  to  the  hour  in  which  the  events  of  the 
soul  have  taken  place  within  them. 

There  are  some  rooms  which  always  have  the 
same  mood.  When  one  goes  into  them  one  doesn't 
impose  one's  mood,  one's  fancy,  or  one's  ideas  upon 
the  place,  but  is  dominated  by  one  lasting  person- 
ality— of  furniture,  of  aspect,  of  general  mise  en 
scene. 

It  would  be  impossible,  for  example,  to  have  a 
merry  breakfast-party  in  the  hangman's  ante-room 
to  the  gallows ;  and  one  has  known  rooms  in  hotels 
which  one  enters  gladly,  unconscious  of  the  per- 
vading gloom  which  seems  to  cling  to  floor  and 

67 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

ceiling  and  rises  up  like  a  spectre  into  the  heart 
and  brain  after  a  few  minutes'  sojourn  there. 

The  sitting-room  in  the  Hotel  des  Tuileries, 
which  had  been  the  theatre  of  such  tragic  emotions 
on  the  last  spring  midnight,  was  now  ordinary  and 
comfortable  enougii. 

The  chairs  and  settees  were  all  in  their  proper 
places.  The  carpet  had  been  brushed,  and  its  dull 
Wues,  greys,  and  brick-dust  reds  were  all  essentially 
artistic 

And  they  had  brought  new  flowers  there  also. 
The  bowls  and  vases  were  filled  with  fresh  purple 
and  white  lilac.  The  silver  candlesticks  had  been 
polished — there  were  no  drippings  of  wax  upon 
them  any  more.  Tall  white  candles,  fresh,  virginal, 
and  unfired,  filled  all  the  candlesticks. 

In  the  middle  of  all  this  freshness  two  people 
were — a  man  and  a  woman. 

One,  Lord  Ellerdinc,  was  very  tall  and  lean.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  very  immaculate  grey  flan- 
nel— not  the  greyish-green  which  the  ordinary  per- 
son who  wears  flannels  imagines  to  be  the  right 
thing,  but  the  real  grey-grey  which  costs  a  good 
deal  of  money;  if  the  tailors  in  Sackville  Street 
and  Waterloo  Place,  from  whom  we  suffer,  are  to 
be  believed. 

Lord  Ellerdine's  hair — and  he  hadn't  much  of  it 
— was  what  he  himself  would  have  described  as 

68 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"the  same  old  dust-colour."  He  wore  a  stiff  double 
collar  with  blue  lines  upon  it,  a  tie  of  China  silk, 
and  a  big  black  pearl,  stuck  right  down  at  the  bot- 
tom, so  that  it  only  peeped  out  from  the  opening 
of  his  waistcoat  now  and  again. 

Lord  Ellerdine  had  red  eyes — that  is  to  say,  that 
there  was  a  sort  of  red  glint  in  them.  The  brows 
which  overhung  them  were  straight  and  dark,  and 
contradicted  with  an  odd  grotesquerie  the  flickering 
attempt  to  really  be  at  home  and  happy  with  the 
world.  The  face  itself  was  rather  tanned  and 
brown,  lean  in  contour  and  suggesting  the  explorer 
and  the  travelled  man;  and  all  this  was  oddly  con- 
tradicted by  an  engaging  little  button  of  a  mouth, 
which  twitched  and  lisped  and  was  always  rather 
more  jolly  than  the  occasion  warranted. 

By  the  side  of  Lord  Ellerdine — or  rather  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  looking  down  upon 
him,  for  he  had  thrown  himself  upon  the  sofa — was 
a  tall,  slim,  and  gracious  woman,  perfectly  dressed 
in  a  travelling  coat  and  skirt  of  tweed.  She  looked 
round  her  rather  fretfully. 

Her  face  was  radiant — there  is  no  other  word  for 
it.  Although  she  had  been  travelling  all  night,  she 
appeared  to  be  as  fresh  as  paint — and  that  exactly 
describes  her. 

The  complexion  was  perfect.  It  had  that  creamy 
morbidezza  one  sees  in  a  furled  magnolia  bud.    Two 

69 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

straight,  decisive  lips  seemed  like  a  "band  of  scarlet 
upon  a  tower  of  ivory."  Lady  Attwill's  eyes  were 
sapphire-blue  and  suspicious,  but  entirely  charming. 
She  was,  in  short,  a  thoroughly  handsome  woman, 
and  the  sunlight  struck  curious  radiances  from  the 
little  pearls  she  wore  in  the  shell-like  lobes  of  her 
ears. 

"Tell  madame,  will  you,  Pauline?"  she  said. 

"I'll  tell  madame  that  you  have  arrived,"  the  maid 
said  with  a  little  bow.  She  crossed  the  room, 
knocked,  opened  the  door  leading  into  Mrs.  Ad- 
maston's  bedroom,  and  disappeared. 

Almost  immediately  Lady  Attwill's  face  changed 
from  its  quiet  calm  and  became  vivid. 

"Cheer  up,  Dicky!"  she  said  to  Lord  Ellerdine; 
"you've  been  in  many  a  worse  fix  than  this." 

The  diplomatist  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  his 
whole  silly — but  somehow  distinguished — face  cov- 
ered with  a  sort  of  desperate  cheerfulness. 

"Worse!"  he  said.  "I  should  say  so.  I  don't 
mind  gettin'  into  a  'fix,'  as  you  call  it." 

"Then  what  in  the  world  are  you  grumbling 
about?"  Lady  Attwill  asked. 

"Why,  how  am  I  going  to  get  out  of  it?  Any 
fool  can  get  into  a  fix — any  time.  It's  gettin'  out 
—what?  That's  the  bally  riddle,  Alice— gettin'  out 
of  it.    What?" 

Lady  Attwill  went  up  to  him  and  dug  him  con- 
70 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

fidentially  in  the  shoulder  with  one  pretty  gloved 
thumb. 

"Look  here,  Dicky,"  she  said;  "now,  did  I  ever 
fail  you?" 

"Oh  no,  no.     You've  always  been  pretty  good." 

"Now,  haven't  I  got  you  out  of  many  a  scrape?" 

Lord  Ellerdine  seemed  to  think — that  is  to  say, 
call  upon  the  resources  of  a  somewhat  attenuated 
memory.  "Yes,"  he  replied;  "not  so  confounded 
many — only  two;  and — ^yes — ^well,  of  course,  that 
other  one  was  rather  awkward," 

He  chuckled  to  himself.  "But,  after  all,  this  is 
different,"  he  continued.  "I  am  not  in  this  one, 
exactly.  No  more  are  you.  It's  Peggy's  fix.  And 
we  don't  quite  know  how  she's  got  into  it.  I  don't 
like  the  look  of  it." 

Lady  Attwill  listened  to  him  with  an  aspect  of 
particular  attention.  But  if  the  man  had  been  able 
to  realise  it  he  would  have  seen  the  flash  of  con- 
tempt which  came  and  went  over  her  face.  He  did 
not,  however,  and  she  replied  in  her  ordinary  tones : 

"Look  of  it!  It's  merely  a  frolic — nothing  seri- 
ous. Collingwood  is  not  the  man  to  run  risks.  He 
believes  in  the  simple  life." 

"Does  he,  by  Jove!"  Lord  Ellerdine  said.  "He's 
not  so  simple  as  that,  Alice." 

"He  is  not  so  simple  as  to  get  into  a  complication 
71 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

with  Admaston,"  she  answered.     "He's  no  fool — 
you  take  my  word  for  it." 

Lord  Ellerdine  grinned  his  fatuous  little  grin. 

"Seems  I  have  to  take  your  word  for  everything," 
he  said. 

"All  right,  Dicky,"  she  answered ;  "just  you  leave 
all  the  thinking  to  me." 

"You  don't  give  me  time  to  think,"  he  answered. 
"I  know  I  am  deuced  slow  at  it.  But  tell  me  this. 
How  did  Peggy  and  Collingwood  get  to  my  place 
last  autumn  before  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning?  Tell 
me  that— what?" 

"They  motored  through  the  night,  of  course." 

"They  jolly  well  didn't,"  replied  his  lordship. 

"But  Colling  told  us  he  did,"  said  Lady  Attwill. 

"I  knew  he  did.    But  they  didn't." 

Lady  Attwill  had  been  glancing  over  the  Matin 
of  that  day,  which  had  been  laid  upon  the  breakfast 
table.  At  these  words  of  her  companion's  she  put 
down  the  paper  rather  hurriedly  and  looked  up. 

"Dicky,"  she  said,  "I  believe  you  know  some- 
thing." 

"I  know  I  do." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"Bad  breakdown  at  Selby  overnight.  They  came 
on  to  my  place  in  a  hired  motor  next  morning.  I 
heard  all  about  it  from  the  man  who  drove  them 
down  from  Selby." 

72 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Lady  Attwill  was  very  genuinely  interested,  or 
achieved  a  fair  assumption  of  interest,  "Dicky!" 
she  cried. 

Lord  Ellerdine  nodded  his  thin  head  vigorously. 
"It's  a  fact,"  he  replied  triumphantly.  "The  fellow 
is  now  my  second  chauffeur.  So  you  see  I  can  find 
out  things  if  I  have  time  enough.  Alice,  I  don't 
like  this  fix  Peggy's  in.  Staying  at  Selby  with  Col- 
ling^ood  all  night  was  bad  enough,  but " 

"Good  gracious!"  Lady  Attwill  answered,  "can't 
a  woman  stay  at  the  same  hotel  with  a  man  she 
knows  without  scandal?" 

"Scandal!"  Lord  Ellerdine  replied.  "Damn  the 
scandal!  It's  what  folks  think.  It's  who  you  are. 
Lots  of  women  wouldn't  mind  staying  at  the  same 
hotel  I  was  staying  at,  and  nobody  would  dream 
that  there  was  anything  wrong — you  wouldn't, 
Alice.  But  Peggy  and  Collingwood  make  people 
suspect  them." 

Lady  Attwill  went  up  to  Lord  Ellerdine  and 
pinched  his  arm  playfully.  "You  silly  old  Dicky," 
she  said,  "you've  been  listening  to  a  lot  of  stupid 
twaddle  at  your  clubs." 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "they  know  pretty  well 
what's  going  on." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  they  do,"  she  said.  "Talk  about 
women  and  their  gossip!  Why,  Dicky,  they're  not 
in  it  with  your  smoke-room  gang." 

73 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

At  that  moment  Pauline  entered  from  Mrs.  Ad- 
maston's  bedroom.  There  was  a  hardly  veiled  hos- 
tility in  her  face  as  she  spoke,  though  her  manner 
was  civil  enough  ''Madame  will  see  Lady  Attwill," 
she  said. 

I^dy  Attwill  swept  across  the  room,  flashing  a 
somewhat  curious  glance  at  the  old  maidservant  as 
she  passed  her,  and  entered  the  bedroom. 

Lord  EUlerdine  had  strolled  up  to  the  firq>lace. 
Tell  Peggy  I  am  waiting,"  he  called  out 

"All  right,"  Lady  Attwill  said.  "You  amuse 
yourself  for  a  few  minutes." 

Lord  Ellerdine  began  to  hum  a  little  time;  then 
he  noticed  Pauline,  who  was  arranging  some  violets 
upon  a  side  table.  "Morning,  Pauline,"  he  said. 
"How's  madame?" 

"She  has  a  headache,"  the  maid  replied;  "just  a 
little  nervous.    Is  your  lordship  well?" 

"No,  I  am  not  weU,  Pauline,  I  am  sorry  to  say. 
I  feel  very  groggy.  I  have  been  all  night  in  a 
confounded  slow  train." 

Pauline  said  nothing,  but  left  the  room  just  as 
the  third  door  opened  and  Collingwood  came  briskly 
into  the  room- 
He  was  wearing  a  lounge  suit  of  dark  blue.  The 
air  of  poise  and  easy  carriage  which  was  so  marked 
a  part  of  his  personality  was  very  much  in  evidence 
now.    There  was  a  quiet  spring  in  his  step,  a  brisk 

74 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

and  cheery  purpose  in  his  movements,  and  he  seemed 
singularly  alert  and  debonnaire;  perfectly  dressed,  a 
very  proper  man  to  look  at,  but  somehow  or  other 
without  a  suggestion  of  foppishness,  which  Lord 
Ellerdine  always  managed  to  conv^.  His  face  was 
calm  and  composed,  but  a  close  observer  would 
have  noticed  that  there  were  dark  ring^  under  the 
eyes  and  that  the  face  was  slightly  paler  than  its 
wont. 

"Oh,  there  you  are!"  Lord  Ellerdine  said, 

"Hello,  Ellerdine!"  Collingwood  replied.  "Bright 
and  early  as  usual?" 

"Early,  yes,"  said  the  other;  "but  not  so  deuced 
bright,  old  chap." 

"When  did  you  get  here?" 

"About  five  o'clock." 

"Had  breakfast?" 

"No,"  said  Lord  Ellerdine.  "I  had  a  bath,  a 
shave,  a  change,  and  a  brandy-and-soda." 

Collingwood  went  up  to  the  window  and  sat  look- 
ing idly  down  into  the  Rue  de  Rivoli. 

"Refreshing,  but  not  very  filling,"  he  said.  "Stay- 
ing here?" 

"No,"  Lord  Ellerdine  replied;  "they  would  not 
let  us  in.  It's  race-week,  you  know.  They  are 
packed  out.  The  place  is  full  of  big  bookies  and 
racing  fellows.  We  had  to  go  to  the  St.  Denis. 
A  nice  fix  you've  got  us  all  in,  Collingwood!*' 

75 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Q)llingwood  turned  away  from  the  window. 

"Fix?    I've  got  you  in?    How  do  you  mean?" 

Lord  Ellerdine  struggled  to  find  words  in  which 
to  express  his  meaning. 

'Tm  blowed  if  I  know — quite.  Anyway,  we're 
in  it." 

"I  don't  understand,"  Collingwood  answered. 

'*Oh,  come  on!"  replied  Lord  Ellerdine.  "Chuck 
that  business,  Colling!  I  know  your  beastly  way 
of  putting  a  fellow  off,  but  you  can't  leave  me  out 
of  this." 

Collingwood  lit  a  cigarette  very  deliberately. 
**Leave  you  out?"  he  said. 

"Wish  to  heavens  you  could !"  was  the  rejoinder. 

Collingwood  perched  himself  on  the  end  of  the 
sofa,  swinging  his  legs.     "Look  here,  what's  up?" 

"Are  we  at  St.  Moritz  ?**  Lord  Ellerdine  asked. 

**No,"  Collingwood  answered  coolly. 

**Are  we  in  Switzerland?" 

**No." 

**Well,  where  are  we?" 

"I  make  a  good  guess,"  Collingwood  said,  "that 
we  are  in  Paris." 

Lord  Ellerdine  flushed  up  and  began  to  get 
angry. 

"Well,  there  you  are !"  he  said.  "Damn  it,  there 
you  are!  And  you  have  got  the  sublime  cheek  to 
ask  me  what's  up." 

76 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

CoUingAV'ood  smiled.  "Now,  don't  get  ratty, 
Dicky,"  he  said.  "It's  all  right.  Only  a  trifling 
contretemps.  We  got  on  the  wrong  train — by  mis- 
take." 

Lord  Ellerdine  began  to  stroll  up  and  down  the 
room.  He  tried  to  be  judicial  in  his  manner.  "Now, 
are  you  telling  me  that  for  a  fact  or  for  a  joke?" 
he  asked. 

"Fact — absolute  fact.  We  were  kept  until  the  last 
moment  paying  duty  on  Peggy's  cigarettes,  and  had 
to  rush  for  the  train " 

He  had  been  going  to  say  something  further,  but 
Lord  Ellerdine  interrupted  him.  "I  saw  you,"  he 
said. 

Here  Collingwood  cut  in  suddenly:  "Yes,  get- 
ting into  the  train  that  was  on  the  move." 

**Yes,"  Lord  Ellerdine  said,  "the  Paris  express. 
You  jumped  Peggy  on  and  sprang  after  her,  drag- 
ging her  maid  with  you.  A  clever  bit  of  work,  my 
friend." 

Collingwood  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Well, 
where  were  you?"  he  replied. 

"In  the  other  train — the  right  one.  With  Alice. 
It  was  a  rotten  thing  for  you  to  do." 

"What,  leave  you  with  Alice?" 

Lord  Ellerdine  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "No, 
no,"  he  said  irritably;  "to  leave  us  in  the  lurch  like 
that" 

77 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"But  I  telegraphed  to  you  to  Chalons  that  we 
had  got  on  the  wrong  train." 

"Yes,  you  wired  to  Chalons  right  enough,  but 
that  didn't  make  it  true.  I  would  not  have  gone 
if  Alice  had  not  persuaded  me  that  the  train  was 
running  in  two  parts,  and  that  you  would  be  sure 
to  join  us  at  Chalons." 

"Well,  it's  all  right  now,"  Collingwood  replied, 
still  preserving  the  perfect  sang-froid  with  which 
he  had  listened  to  all  the  other's  remarks.  "It's  all 
right  now,  so  don't  let's  say  any  more  about  it" 

"All  right  now,  by  Jove !"  Ellerdine  replied.  "Is 
it?     Suppose  Adraaston  hears  about  it — what?" 

"Of  course,"  Collingwood  said,  "if  you  think  it 
is  absolutely  necessary,  we'll  invent  some  yam  that 
will  satisfy  him." 

"I  do  think  it  necessary.  But  you'll  have  to  do 
it.  I  never  could  invent — never.  No  good  at  it. 
Confound  you,  Colling,  leaving  us  .  .  ." 

Collingwood's  manner  changed  from  coolness  to 
something  more  intimate.  "Now,  look  here,  Dicky," 
he  said  persuasively.  "I  didn't  think  you'd  cut  up 
rough  about  it.  I  thought  Alice  possibly  might, 
but  not  you." 

"Oh,  she  doesn't  mind,"  Ellerdine  answered. 
"She  never  believes  that  people  get  on  the  wrong 
train,  or  have  motor  accidents  so  that  they  can 
have  a  night  off." 

78 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Collingwood  put  his  feet  down  to  the  floor  and 
threw  the  end  of  his  cigarette  into  the  fireplace. 
"Now,  look  here,"  he  said;  "do  you  mean  that  you 
think  that  I "    He  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"No,  I  don't,"  Lord  Ellerdine  answered;  "but 
what  will  Admaston  think?  He  is  sure  to  hear  of 
it.  I'll  bet  you  a  fiver  it's  known  in  London  to- 
night. There  is  always  someone  on  the  spot  to 
notice  things  that  go  wrong,  and  this  is  so  suspicious 
— so  damned  suspicious,  mind  you.  Why,  /  don't 
like  the  look  of  it — mind,  the  look  of  it — myself." 

"Then  we  must  set  your  conscience  at  rest,  that's 
all,"  Collingwood  replied. 

"How?" 

"Well,  we  must  all  have  a  proper,  coherent,  con- 
nected yarn  to  tell.    That's  quite  simple." 

Ellerdine  shook  his  head  thoughtfully.  "I  don't 
think  it  will  work,"  he  said.  "You  can't  get  four 
people  to  tell  the  same  yam  without  variation. 
There's  sure  to  be  one -let  it  down  just  where  it 
ought  to  be  kept  up." 

"If  it  were  a  long,  complicated  yarn,  perhaps," 
said  Collingwood;  "but  I  don't  mean  that  at  all. 
Just  a  plain,  unvarnished  tale." 

"Unvarnished!"  the  peer  replied.  "Well,  it'll 
take  a  deuce  of  a  lot  of  paint  to  make  this  one  look 
all  right." 

79 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  Collingwood  replied.  "Eas}- 
as  anything." 

Lord  Ellerdine  went  to  the  fireplace  once  more 
and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  flames.  "Right  ho," 
he  said ;  "go  ahead." 

"Here  you  are,  then,"  Collingwood  began.  "We 
all  got  on  the  wrong  train." 

"But  we  didn't." 

"Damn  it!"  Collingwood  said,  "of  course  we 
didn't;  but  we'll  say  we  did." 

Lord  Ellerdine  began  to  check  the  points  upon 
the  fingers  of  one  hand,  as  if  anxious  to  commit 
them  to  memory  even  at  this  early  stage.  "Am  I 
to  say  we  did  ?"  he  asked. 

"We  will  all  say  we  did,"  Collingwood  replied. 

"I  shall  never  be  able  to,"  Lord  Ellerdine  re- 
marked hopelessly. 

"Confound  it,  Dicky!  Are  you  the  George 
Washington  of  the  lot?" 

The  peer  shook  his  head  more  vigorously.  That 
imputation,  at  anyrate,  he  was  anxious  to  avoid. 
"No,  no,"  he  said  quickly;  "it's  not  the  truth  that 
bothers  me.  It's  getting  the  blooming  fib  to  sound 
all  right." 

Collingwood  repeated  his  instruction  as  if  he  were 
teaching  a  lesson  to  a  child,  speaking  slowly  and 
impressively.  "  'We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train.' 
There's  nothing  difficult  about  saying  that." 

80 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Lord  Ellerdine  repeated  the  sentence  in  exactly 
the  same  voice. 

"  'We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train.'  " 

"Bravo,  Dicky !"  said  Collingwood.  "Now  then, 
don't  relax  your  attention,  old  chap.  The  next  is 
that  we  all  stayed  the  night  at  this  hotel." 

The  index  finger  of  Lord  Ellerdine's  right  hand 
moved  from  the  thumb  to  the  first  finger  of  his  left. 
He  appeared  to  have  got  it  all  right,  when  suddenly 
a  doubt  seemed  to  enter  the  vacant  spaces  of  his 
mind. 

"What,  here?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  here ;  at  this  hotel." 

"Oh !  Come,  old  chap !  Doesn't  that  look  like  a 
bally  lie?  Now  think  it  over  for  yourself.  Listen. 
'We  all  stayed  the  night  at  this  hotel'  " 

ColHngwood  was  a  patient  man,  and  he  listened 
without  any  betrayal  of  what  he  really  felt  in  dealing 
with  this  pleasant  fool. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "what's  wrong  with  it?" 

"Oh!  it  lacks  something,"  was  the  reply;  and 
though  the  speaker  did  not  amplify  his  statement, 
his  voice  was  full  of  doubt  and  hesitation. 

"Oh,  rot!"  Collingwood  answered.  "It's  only 
wrong  because  we  didn't  stay  here.  If  you  can  say, 
'We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train,'  surely  to  goodness 
you  can  say  that  we  all  stayed  the  night  at  this 
hotel?" 

8i 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Yes,"  Ellcrdine  answered  slowly,  "I  suppose  it 
ought  to  be  easy  enough." 

"No  wonder  you  chucked  diplomacy,"  Colling- 
wood  said. 

"Oh !  I  didn't  mind  a  fib  or  two  for  international 
reasons." 

"I  see,"  Collingwood  rejoined.  "Your  conscience 
begins  to  prick  you  only  when  fibs  are  told  for 
domestic  purposes." 

"Well,  you  see,  you  run  much  greater  risks  of 
being  found  out.  It's  awful  to  be  found  out  in  an 
ordinary  lie — ^people  make  such  a  fuss  of  other 
people's  lies." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  national  lies  are 
never  found  out?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  Ellerdine  replied — the  discussion 
was  getting  a  little  bit  beyond  him,  and  again  he 
struggled  to  find  words, — "you  see,  national  lies  are 
not  about  persons."  Then  he  shook  his  head.  "I'm 
damned  bad  at  it,  Collingwood,"  he  said  in  a  final 
sort  of  voice.  "I  can't  rely  on  my  memory.  I  sup- 
pose there's  no  other  way  out  of  it?" 

"My  dear  chap,  none  whatever,"  Collingwood 
said. 

"  *We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train,'  "  Ellerdine  re- 
peated to  himself  slowly  in  a  sing-song  voice;  and 
then,  looking  up  brightly,  "Does  seem  easy,  doesn't 

itr 

82 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Top  hole,"  said  ColHngwood. 

Thus  encouraged,  Lord  Ellerdine  began  to  repeat 
the  second  half  of  his  lesson.  "  'We  all  stayed  the 
night  at  this  hotel.'  There's  something  wrong  with 
that." 

"It's  only  your  sense  of  the  scrupulous,"  Colling- 
wood  replied.  "Only  say  it  often  enough.  Say  it 
thirty  or  forty  times;  then  it  will  sound  all  right." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  and  Lady  Attwill 
came  in.  She  looked  quickly  at  ColHngwood  and 
he  at  her. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said.  "Well,  how  is 
Peggy?" 

"She  has  a  bad  headache,"  Lady  Attwill  replied. 
"She's  coming  in  in  a  minute  or  two.  I  have  had 
a  warm  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  can  tell  you,  though  I 
am  sure  I  don't  know  what  /  have  done  .  .  ." 

If  the  woman  was  acting  she  was  acting  su- 
premely, for  there  seemed  genuine  disgust  in  her 
voice. 

"Is  she  much  cut  up?"  Lord  Ellerdine  asked. 

"I  should  think  she  is!  She's  dreadfully  cut  up! 
I  don't  know  vv'hat  we  are  to  do,"  Lady  Attwill  said. 

Lord  Ellerdine  suddenly  became  important;  his 
little  mouth  smiled  brightly.  He  was  the  bearer  of 
good  news.  "Oh,  that's  all  settled,"  he  said,  rub- 
bing his  hands  briskly  together.  "I  and  ColHng- 
wood have  arranged  it  all." 

83 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Arranged  what?"  Lady  Attwill  asked. 

"Well,  do  you  see,  we  all " 

The  bright  expression  faded  from  the  cx-diplo 
matist's  face.      "Tell  her,  Collingwood,"  he  said. 
"My  head  won't  work.     I've  forgotten  everything 
already." 

"You've  never  g^ven  Dicky  anything  to  think 
about?"  Lady  Attwill  said  in  mock  alarm. 

"Not  much,"  Collingwood  answered. 

Ellerdine  flushed  up  angrily.  "Not  much!"  he 
cried.  "He  gets  on  the  wrong  train.  He  leaves  us 
standing  at  the  post  like  a  couple  of  sublime  martyrs. 
Goes  off  to  Paris  and  leaves  us  kicking  our  con- 
founded heels  at  Chalons.  We  come  here  after 
them — ^find  the  hotel  full  of  bookies — travel  all  night 
in  a  beastly  slow  train — no  sleep,  no  food,  no  Swit- 
zerland. Not  much  to  think  about !  I  shall  have  an 
attack  of  brain  fever  after  this  affair." 

Lady  Attwill  went  up  to  the  enraged  gentleman. 
"Poor  Dicky!"  she  said  soothingly.  "He's  had  a 
bad  night.  Dicky  is  no  good  unless  he  gets  his 
proper  sleep.  Now  sit  down,  there's  a  good  boy,  and 
let's  talk  it  over  properly." 

She  led  him  to  a  chair  with  a  radiant  smile,  and 
then  turned  to  Collingwood.  "Now  tell  me,  what 
is  it  that  you  have  arranged?"  As  she  said  this 
she  felt  in  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat  and  drew  out 

84 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

his  cigarette  case.  Opening  it,  she  gave  him  one 
and  took  one  for  herself,  struck  a  match  and  lit  it. 

"Well,"  Colling^ood  answered,  leaning  over  the 
back  of  the  sofa  on  which  his  friend  had  seated 
herself.  "A  short,  straight  tale — simple,  to  the 
point,  and  easy  to  tell." 

"The  truth?"  Lady  Attwill  asked 

"The  truth!  Never!  Who's  going  to  tell  Ad- 
maston  the  truth?"  Lord  Ellerdine  burst  out 

"How's  he  to  know  ?"  Lady  Attwill  said. 

"Know!"  Ellerdine  retorted.  "I'll  bet  Colling- 
wood  a  fiver  all  London  knows  to-night" 

He  looked  anxiously  at  the  other  man,  unable  to 
understand  how  he  could  take  things  so  easily,  ab- 
solutely unconscious  of  anything  underlying  this 
unfortunate  occurrence,  absolutely  unsuspicious  of 
the  sinister  forces  at  work  around  him. 

"Oh,  bosh!"  Collingwood  answered.  "Anyway, 
we  can  say  we  all  got  on  the  wrong  train." 

"  'That  we  all  got  on  the  wrong  train,* "  came 
with  parrot-like  precision  from  the  diplomatist. 

"But  we  didn't,"  Lady  Attwill  said,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other. 

Lord  Ellerdine  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  his 
face  radiant  with  triumph.  "There  you  are!"  he 
said  to  Collingwood.    "Just  what  I  told  you !" 

Lady  Attwill  became  alive  to  the  situation.  "Oh, 
85 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

I  see,"  she  said ;  "that  is  the  short,  straight,  simple 
tale.    I  see.    'We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train.'  " 

"You  see,  Dicky !"  Collingvvood  said  with  a  smile. 
"See  how  quickly  Alice  picks  it  up." 

"Oh,  she's  used  to  it,"  said  Ellerdine.  "She  picks 
up  things  very  quickly.  But  tell  her  the  sequel — 
that's  the  water-jump  for  me." 

"Come  on;  let's  have  a  look  at  it,"  said  Lady 
Attwill. 

Collingwood  seemed  vastly  amused.  He  assumed 
the  air  of  a  comedian.  His  hands  fluttered  before 
him  in  pantomime.  His  handsome  face  became  droll 
and  merry. 

"  'We  all  stayed  the  night  at  this  hotel,'  "  he  said. 

Lord  Ellerdine  nodded  with  an  anxious  look  in 
his  eyes  towards  Lady  Attwill.  "Now  try  that," 
he  said. 

"  'We  all  stayed  the  night  at  this  hotel,'  "  said 
Lady  Attwill  with  perfect  naturalness  and  ease. 

"There  you  are !"  said  Collingwood. 

The  middle-aged  fool  in  the  arm-chair  was  quite 
interested  and  pleased.  He  saw  nothing  of  the  grim- 
ness  which  underlay  this  gay,  light-hearted  chatter, 
in  this  gay  and  brilliant  room.  The  other  two,  man 
and  woman,  were  playing  their  parts  most  skilfully 
— not  so  much  to  deceive  Ellerdine,  but  to  trick 
themselves  into  the  belief  that  they  were  not  engaged 
in  a  very  dirty,  ugly  business. 

86 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

It's  an  extraordinary  thing,  but  nevertheless  per- 
fectly true,  that  people  who  are  able  to  infuse  a 
sinister  and  tragic  moment  with  mocking  gaiety 
certainly  provide  for  themselves  an  anodyne  to  the 
pain  and  fear  it  would  otherwise  bring  them. 

No  doubt  that  is  why  the  devil  is  generally  rep- 
resented as  smirking  or  leering. 

The  door  opened  and  the  Scotch-French  waiter 
with  a  large  tray  entered,  followed  by  another  also 
carrying  a  tray,  but  whose  swarthy  features  and 
thick  purple  lips  proclaimed  him  no  hybrid,  but  a 
true  son  of  the  Cote  d'Azur. 

Lord  Ellerdine  jumped  up.  "Food !"  he  said.  "I 
am  starving." 

Lady  Attwill  rose  also.  "Poor  Dicky  must  al- 
ways have  his  food,"  she  said.  "I  always  think  he 
never  seems  quite  human  till  he  has  had  his  break- 
fast. When  we  were  down  at  his  place  to- 
gether  " 

Collingwood  nudged  her  with  a  warning  looku 
"Piano !"  he  said. 

"What  about  ?"  she  whispered,  with  a  rather  sar- 
donic grin.    "I  don't  want  to  play." 

"The  waiter,  I  mean,"  Colling^vood  replied. 

"Bien !"  she  answered,  seating  herself  in  front  of 
the  cafetiere  and  pouring  out  the  hot  brown  coffee. 

Lord  Ellerdine  had  also  sat  down.  He  looked 
at  his  as  yet  empty  plate  and  drummed  with  his 

87 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

fingers  upon  the  table-cloth.  "  'We  all  stayed  the 
night  at  this  hotel/  "  he  said  in  a  perfectly  audible 
voice. 

"Oui,  monsieur,"  said  Jacques  of  Ecclefechan 
suddenly. 

Ellerdine  started  and  looked  up,  his  face  express- 
ing great  surprise.  "Get  away,"  he  said.  "I  wasn't 
speaking  to  you." 

Collingwood  frowned.  His  nerves,  now,  didn't 
seem  quite  under  the  same  control  as  they  had  been 
before.  "Laissez  les  autres  choses,  gargon.  Nous 
nous  servirons." 

"Bien,  monsieur,"  said  the  waiter,  with  an  ugly 
and  furtive  smile  upon  his  face,  which  nobody  no- 
ticed, as  he  left  the  room. 

"Come  on,  Alice.  Where's  my  coffee  ?"  said  Lord 
Ellerdine. 

"There  you  are,"  she  answered.  "Coffee, 
Colling?" 

Collingwood  nodded.    "What  is  there?"  he  asked. 

Lady  Attwill  lifted  the  covers.  "Omelette,  bacon, 
sole,  mushrooms." 

"Sole  for  me." 

"Bacon  and  mushrooms,  Alice,"  Ellerdine  re- 
marked, quite  himself  again  at  the  thought  of 
breakfast. 

"You  have  no  idea  how  I  buck  up  after  a  cup  of 
coffee,"  he  continued;  "but,  upon  my  soul,  I  feel 

88 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

like  a  fried  flounder  this  morning.  I  don't  think  I 
shall  ever  be  in  a  hotter  place  than  that  confounded 
train  from  Chalons." 

"Yes,  you  will,  Dicky,"  Lady  Attwill  remarked, 
taking  a  piece  of  toast  from  the  rack. 

"Oh  yes,  you  will,  Dicky,"  Collingwood  echoed; 
"don't  make  any  mistake  about  that." 

"After  all,"  Lady  Attwill  went  on,  "it  wasn't  so 
bad.    You  worried;  that  was  what  made  you  hot." 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  it.  You  slept 
like  a  log  all  the  way,"  Ellerdine  said. 

"Easy  conscience,"  answered  the  lady,  beginning 
her  breakfast  with  great  satisfaction. 

"You  didn't  get  on  the  wrong  train,"  said  Eller- 
dine meaningly. 

Collingwood  put  down  his  fish-fork.  The  long 
strain  to  which  his  nerves  had  been  subjected,  the 
irritation  which  he  had  so  well  suppressed  until 
now,  had  its  way  with  him  and  burst  out. 

"Oh,  damn  it  1"  he  said,  "you  two  make  me  tired. 
Do  shut  up  about  the  wrong  train.  Let's  have  our 
breakfast  in  peace." 

Lord  Ellerdine  busied  himself  with  his  mush- 
rooms. "I  wish  I  had  a  hide  as  thick  as  yours. 
Colling,  old  man,"  he  said.  "You  do  take  things 
smoothly.  Look  at  him,  Alice — eating  away  as  if 
he  was  on  his  honeymoon  1" 

89 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Collingwood  glared  at  his  vis-a-vis.  "Honey- 
moon!" he  said. 

"He  doesn't  care  a  fig  about  getting  us  into  this 
mess.  What  excellent  bacon  they  have  here !"  Lord 
Ellerdine  went  on. 

Again  Collingwood  got  the  better  of  his  rising 
temper.  "Oh,  you'll  be  all  right,  Dicky,"  he  said, 
"when  we  get  to  St.  Moritz  to-morrow." 

"We're  not  going,"  I^dy  Attwill  said  shortly. 

Collingwood  started.    "We  are,"  he  said. 

"Wrong,  my  boy,"  said  Lady  Attwill  again. 
"Peggy  is  going  back." 

"Back!    Back  where?" 

"To  London." 

"She  doesn't  mean  it?"  Collingwood  said,  putting 
down  his  fork  and  looking  straight  at  Lady  Attwill. 

She  nodded  at  him,  and  he  knew  that  what  she 
said  was  true. 

"There  you  are!"  piped  out  in  Lord  Ellerdine's 
voice.  "I  knew  it;  I  felt  it  in  my  bones  all  the  time 
I  was  in  that  beastly  train.  Peggy's  got  the  hump. 
You  have  spoilt  the  whole  show,  Colling.  I  can't 
eat  any  more." 

He  pushed  his  chair  away  from  the  table  with  a 
perplexed  and  angry  face,  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"Hang  it!"  Collingwood  said,  "is  this  the  first 
time  that  anyone  got  on  the  wrong  train?" 

90 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEU 

"No,  it  is  not,"  Ellerdine  answered  shortly.  "But 
it  is  the  first  time  it  has  happened  to  Peggy.  Anjr- 
body  but  Peggy." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  Collingwood  said,  "that  we  are 
making  a  lot  of  unnecessary  fuss." 

"Yes ;  let's  drop  it,"  came  from  Lady  Attwill. 

"Alice,"  Lord  Ellerdine  persisted,  "don't  you 
agree  with  me?" 

She  sighed,  but  it  was  necessary  to  preserve  ap- 
pearances. "Well,  Dicky,"  she  said,  "Peggy  has 
not  shown  a  tenacious  desire  to  observe  the  strict 
letter  of  every  propriety.  I  know  that  there  has 
been  nothing  wrong.  Absolutely  nothing  but  little 
frisks  and  frolics  now  and  then — quite  all  right 
actually — looking  perhaps  worse  than  they  were — 
nothing  else.  But,  after  all,  it  is  not  what  you 
do;  the  trouble  of  it  is  what  other  folks  say 
you  do." 

The  persistent  moralist  was  not  to  be  put  off. 
"The  married  woman,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  as  near 
to  a  pulpit  manner  as  he  could  get,  "cannot  afford 
to  have  anyone  say  a  word.  Look  at  Alice.  Before 
Attwill  kicked  the  bucket  she  lived  in  a  glass  case. 
Didn't  you,  Alice?" 

Collingwood  chuckled :  not  merrily  at  all,  but  with 
a  rather  nasty  cynicism — a  snigger,  in  fact. 

"Look  here,  Dicky,"  he  said,  "if  you  don't  stop 
91 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

your  sickening  habit  of  preaching  left-handed  mor- 
ality at  me  I'll  give  you  up.  I  can't  stand  it.  I 
am  not  moral — don't  know  the  first  thing  about  it 
— never  met  anybody  who  did.  Man  is  not  moral ; 
environment  makes  it  impossible.  You're  not  moral, 
Dicky,  although  you  may  think  you  are.  And  as 
for  society,  it  is  absolutely  unmoral." 

"I  say!  I  say!  I  say!  Listen  to  our  future  Home 
Secretary!"  said  Lord  Ellerdine. 

"No  fear,"  Collingwood  answered.  "I  leave  that 
field  to  Admaston  and  the  other  cackling  crew  of 
humbugs." 

Lady  Attwill  laughed  amusedly,  and  Ellerdine 
was  about  to  say  something  else,  when  the  door 
opened  and  Peggy  entered. 

She  was  very  simply  but  very  expensively  dressed 
in  an  exquisite  walking-dress  of  a  colour  which  was 
neither  grey  nor  amethyst,  but  a  cunning  blend  of 
both.  At  her  breast  she  wore  a  little  sprig  of  white 
lilac.  There  was  a  sudden  silence  as  she  entered, 
a  silence  almost  as  if  the  three  people  were  con- 
spirators. 

Peggy  walked  briskly  up  to  the  table,  nodding 
and  smiling.  "Well,  you're  a  nice  lot,"  she  said. 
"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  breakfast  was  ready?  I 
have  been  dying  for  a  cup  of  coffee.  Anything 
good  in  the  food  line?  Something  smells  good. 
What  is  it?    Mushrooms — just  the  very  thing!     I 

92 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

like  mushrooms.  Remind  one  of  early  risings  and 
misty  mornings.  How  are  you,  Dicky?  Alice, 
give  me  some  coffee,  there's  a  dear.  Hello,  Colling ! 
any  news?" 

Her  chatter  was  more  general  than  addressed  to 
any  particular  person,  and  she  didn't  seem  to  re- 
quire any  answer  to  her  questions.  At  anyrate, 
nobody  made  any  answer,  and  there  was  an  un- 
comfortable silence  as  Peggy  beg^n  her  breakfast. 

"You're  a  jolly  lot,"  she  said  after  a  minute  or 
so.  "What's  up  with  you  all?  These  mushrooms 
are  nice.  Dicky,  pass  the  toast.  What  ?  I  thought 
you  said  something,  Alice." 

Lady  Attwill  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  an- 
swered in  a  rather  strained  voice. 

There  was  another  silence.  Suddenly  Peggy 
put  down  her  knife  and  fork  with  a  little  clatter 
and  rose  from  her  chair.  "This  room  is  horribly 
stuffy,"  she  said,  going  to  the  window.  "There, 
that's  better.  Oh!  what  a  lovely  morning!  Dear 
old  Paris !  how  I  do  love  it !" 

She  seemed  restless  and  unable  to  remain  long  in 
one  position,  and  soon  she  had  fluttered  back  to  the 
breakfast-table. 

"Alice,"  she  said,  "please  pour  me  out  another 
cup  of  coffee. — Well,  Dicky,  I  put  my  foot  into  it 
nicely  last  night,  didn't  I?" 

93 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Yes,  you  jolly  well  did,"  Lord  Ellerdine  an- 
swered shortly. 

"I  knew  what  you  wanted  to  talk  about,  Dicky," 
she  said. 

Collingwood  interposed.      "Peggy,  don't  go  on 
like  that.    I  have  explained  it  to  Dicky." 

"Were  you  quite  the  one  to  explain?"  she  asked. 

"Well,"  Collingwood  replied,  "it  was  my  fault  I 
rushed  you  into  the  train." 

,  Lord  Ellerdine  started.  Something  already  be- 
ginning to  be  familiar  had  penetrated  his  conscious- 
ness.   "We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train,"  he  said. 

"Oh!    All?"  Peggy  asked. 

"Yes,"    said    the    diplomatist — "yes — no — that's 
what  we're  going  to  say." 

"To  whom?"  asked  Peggy. 

"Well — well — to — well,  to  anyone  who  wants  to 
know." 

"Who  should  want  to  know?"  Peggy  asked. 

"Oh,  no  one,  Peggy,"  said  Lady  Attwill;  "but 
it's  best  to  be  prepared,  you  know." 

"But  I  don't  know.     Why  should  I  know?     Be 
prepared  for  what?" 

"Nothing,  dear,  absolutely  nothing.    Only,  some 
chatty  fool  might  ask." 

"Ask  what?" 

"Well — awkward  questions." 

"About  getting  on  the  wrong  train?" 
94 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Yes— and " 


P^g&y  pressed  home  her  questions.  She  would 
not  understand.     "What  else?"  she  said. 

"We  all  stayed  the  night  at  this  hotel,"  Lord 
Ellerdine  remarked. 

"Did  we?*'  Peggy  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  said— "no  I  Oh !  But  it  is  best  to  be 
prepared." 

"I  see,"  Peggy  said  at  last.  "What  a  dull  crea- 
ture I  am !  Dear  me !  how  stupid  I  didn't  see  it  be- 
fore! You  have  all  made  it  up  to  put  me  right. 
You  and  Alice  didn't  go  to  Switzerland — you  came 
on  to  Paris.  You  and  Alice  didn't  get  to  Chalons 
and  come  on  here  by  the  slow  train — ^you  stayed  here 
all  night.  I  see.  Now,  that's  so  kind  and  thought- 
ful of  you  all!  But  for  whom  is  this  delightful 
story?" 

"Dicky's  scruples,"  Collingwood  said  hurriedly. 

"I  see.  Dicky  wanted  it,  did  he  ?"  Peggy  replied. 
"Well,  Dicky,  I  hope  your  moral  sensibilities  are 
quite  satisfied.  We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train  and 
we  all  stayed  the  night  at  this  hotel." 

"Quite  so,"  Ellerdine  said  quickly;  "just  a  short, 
straight,  simple  tale,  ready  for  any  emergency." 

"And  what  emergency  do  you  expect  t" 

"Dearest  Peggy,  none  at  all,"  Lady  Attwill  said, 
with  a  note  of  anxious  affection  in  her  voice. 

95 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"I  see.  I  understand.  But  don't  you  think  the 
tale  will  need  a  lot  of  corroboration?" 

"But  only  if  someone  questions  it." 

"Oh!"  Peggy  said,  and  there  was  a  world  of 
meaning  in  the  exclamation. 

"You  see,"  Lord  Ellerdine  went  on  anxiously — 
"you  see,  it's  all  right,  Peggy.  We  have  left  noth- 
ing to  chance." 

Lady  Attwill  nodded.  "Nothing  at  all,"  she  said, 
echoing  her  friend. 

Peggy  looked  at  them  each  in  turn.  Her  sweet 
and  youthful  face  bore  little  trace  of  what  she  had 
gone  through  the  night  before ;  and  though  her  head 
was  throbbing  and  her  nerves  were  all  jangling  and 
raw,  her  freshness  and  purity  of  countenance  re- 
mained absolutely  unimpaired.  Beside  her  Alice 
Attwill  suddenly  seemed  to  have  grown  old. 

She  looked  at  them  each  in  turn  with  grave  con- 
templation— lastly  at  Collingwood.  "And  what  do 
you  think  about  it,  Colling?"  she  asked  at  length. 
"Don't  you  think  that  we  are  a  precious  set  of  fools  ? 
No — ^that's  imkind  of  me.  Not  you,  Alice.  Not 
you,  Dicky.  I  am  the  precious  fool.  Fool !  Why, 
I  should  have  been  in  cap  and  bells!  A  thing  to 
make  the  whole  world  laugh.  For  only  the  fool 
will  ask  for  an  explanation — the  wise,  if  they  ask, 
will  look  on  the  explanation  as  the  better  part  of 

96 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

the  joke.    But  tell  me,  Dicky,  why  is  the  explanation 
necessary  ?" 

"Oh !  Come,  Peggy,  come.  Confound  it !"  Lord 
Ellerdine  blundered  out.    "It  looks  so  deuced  bad." 

Peggy  made  a  grimace  at  him.  "Candid!"  she 
said.  "Now  that  was  frank.  'It  looks  so  deuced 
bad.'  That's  it.  Looks!  But  only  looks.  What 
do  you  think,  Colling  ?  Can't  we  tell  the  truth  ?  Is 
there  anything  to  hide?" 

"Nothing,"  Collingwood  said. 

"There,"  Peggy  went  on;  "there's  nothing  to 
hide." 

"Oh,  we  all  know  that,"  Lord  Ellerdine  said 
hastily. 

Peggy's  rising  temper  almost  got  the  better  of 
her.  "Then  why  the  explanation — ^the  'short, 
straight,  simple  tale'?    Why  not  the  truth?" 

She  clenched  her  hands,  and  an  angry  light  burned 
in  her  eyes.  "Oh!  I'll  leave  you  for  a  moment.  I 
must  go  out.  This  place  is  stifling!  We  ought  all 
to  be  out  in  the  air.  We'll  grow  mouldy  in  here — 
plotting.  Alice,  I'll  put  on  my  hat.  Colling,  you 
must  invent  another  tale  to  satisfy  Dicky's  scruples. 
Think  it  over." 

She  tore  out  of  the  room  into  her  own  and  shut 
the  door  with  a  rather  vicious  slam. 

"Well,  I'm  jiggered !"  Lord  Ellerdine  said, 
97 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Lady  Attwill  nodded  with  a  slight  tightening  of 
the  lips.    "I  told  you  she  was  upset,"  she  answered. 

Collingwood  rose  from  the  table  and  went  towards 
his  own  room. 

"Well,  Dicky,"  he  said,  "I  have  done  the  best  I 
can  to  satisfy  you.  I'll  get  my  hat  and  take  Peggy 
for  a  walk  and  talk  it  over."  And  he  also  left  the 
room. 

"Well,"  Ellerdine  remarked,  "this  comes  of 
thinking  of  your  friends."  He  went  to  the  fire- 
place and  gazed  rather  gloomily  at  the  glowing  logs. 
"May  the  devil  take  me  if  I  ever  care  a  damn  again 
what  folks  think  of  'em,"  he  went  on. 

Alice  Attwill  went  up  to  the  window.  "Dicky, 
it  is  very  strange,"  she  said.  "I  have  never  seen 
Peggy  in  that  nasty  mood  before." 

"I've  a  jolly  good  mind  to  think  the  worst  has 
happened,"  the  man  remarked. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Well,  anyway, 
Colling  is  not  in  Peggy's  good  books,"  she  said,  and, 
pulling  one  of  the  large  windows  open,  she  stepped 
out  up>on  the  balcony. 

Lord  Ellerdine  was  left  alone.  His  face  was 
grave  and  perplexed;  but  seeing  the  Matin  lying 
on  the  sofa,  where  Lady  Attwill  had  dropped  it 
before  breakfast,  he  went  up,  sat  down,  and  was 
soon  immersed  in  the  news  of  the  day. 

There  came  a  light  tap  upon  the  door  leading 
98 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

into  the  corridor,  which  was  flung  open  immediately 
afterwards.  Jacques  stood  there  holding  the  door 
open. 

"Mr.  Admaston,"  he  said  in  a  loud,  clear  voice. 


99 


CHAPTER  V 

A  THUNDERBOLT  Crashing  through  the  roof  of  the 
hotel  could  not  have  startled  Lord  Ellerdine  more 
than  the  waiter's  announcement : 

*'Mr.  Admaston." 

He  dropped  the  paper,  sprang  to  his  feet  as  if 
someone  had  struck  him,  while  his  face  grew  ab- 
solutely white  and  the  little  mouth  became  a  round 
"O'*  of  consternation  and  alarm. 

George  Admaston  walked  slowly  into  the  room. 

He  was  a  big  man  of  about  forty  years  of  age, 
very  quiet  in  manner,  and  with  a  strong,  resolute 
face.  The  eyes  were  grey  and  steadfast,  and  wore 
that  look  which  some  people  mistake  for  abstrac- 
tion^ but  which  is  anything  but  that.  They  had 
the  expression  of  one  who  thinks  often  and  much. 
The  finely  chiselled  mouth  was  set  somewhat  grimly, 
and  there  was  great  force  and  assertiveness  about 
the  slightly  forward  thrust  of  the  massive  chin.  He 
was  dressed  in  quiet  grey  tweeds,  carried  a  bowler 
hat  in  his  hand  and  a  light  coat  over  his  arm. 

"Hello,  Ellerdine!"  he  said.  "What  are  you  do- 
ing here  ?" 

loo 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

The  voice  was  deep  and  mellow,  informed  with 
weight  and  gravity,  though  pleasantly  musical. 

Lord  Ellerdine  looked  hurriedly  round  the  room. 
It  might  have  been  thought  he  was  seeking  an  ave- 
nue of  escape. 

There  was  no  one  to  help  him,  however,  and  he 
began  to  stutter  horribly,  while  his  eyes  wore  the 
look  of  a  startled  hare.  "Here?"  he  gasped  out. 
"Oh!"  His  eyes  fell  upon  the  breakfast-table,  and 
an  inspiration  came  to  him.  "Oh,"  he  stuttered, 
"just  had  breakfast,  don't  you  know." 

"Early  for  you,  isn't  it?"  said  the  big  man,  look- 
ing the  wretched  object  before  him  full  in  the  face. 

"It  is  rather  early,"  Lord  Ellerdine  replied.  "Been 
travelling  all " 

"All  what?"  Admaston  asked  quickly. 

The  other  was  in  despair.  He  realised  what  he 
had  done.  He  looked  hopelessly  round  the  room 
for  Alice  Attwill. 

"Where's  Lady  Attwill  gone?"  he  gasped. 

Never  relaxing  his  gaze  for  a  single  instant,  and 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  without  advanc- 
ing further,  Admaston  continued :  "Is  she  here  ?" 

"Oh  yes,"  replied  Lord  Ellerdine.  "She's  here. 
In  fact,  we're  all  here." 

"Where's  my  wife?" 

"In  her  room.  Changing  her  gown.  She's  go- 
ing for  a  walk." 

lOI 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"But  I  thought  you  went  to  Switzerland,"  Ad- 
maston  went  on. 

"Did  you  really?"  Ellerdine  answered,  with  a 
ghastly  assumption  of  ingratiating  affability,  though 
his  hands  were  shaking,  his  mouth  worked,  and 
beads  of  perspiration  were  plainly  rolling  down  his 
face. 

Again  came  the  grave,  persistent  voice:  "Yes. 
That  was  the  plan,  wasn't  it?" 

"Oh!  Yes — of  course.  But  we  all  got  on  the 
wrong  train." 

"What  ?"  Admaston  said  sharply,  and  a  new  note 
in  his  voice  made  the  ex-diplomatist  jump  from 
the  floor. 

"We  all  got  on  the  wrong  train,"  he  repeated. 

"Who  are  we?" 

"Colling^ood  and  Peggy " 

"And  what  train  did  you  and  Lady  Attwill  get 
on?" 

"The  wrong  one.    Stupid  mistake,  wasn't  it?" 

"Very,"  Admaston  answered. 

Lord  Ellerdine  brightened  a  little.  He  thought 
he  was  carrying  things  very  well  now.  "Yes,"  he 
said,  "and  so  we  all  stayed  tlie  night  at  this  hotel." 

"Indeed!"  Admaston  replied. 

The  other  put  his  shaking  hands  into  his  trousers 
pockets.  "Oh  yes!  all,"  he  said.  "The  proprieties 
were  most  carefully  observed,  Admaston." 

102 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Now,  that  is  very  interesting,"  Admaston  re- 
marked; and  if  the  other  had  been  a  member  of 
the  Lower  House  instead  of  the  Upper,  which  he 
never  entered,  he  would  have  known  what  that 
bland  suavity  of  voice  portended  when  the  Cabinet 
Minister  rose  to  speak. 

Lord  Ellerdine  nodde^.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "But 
what  the  deuce  are  you  doing  here  in  Paris?" 

"Oh !  a  whim." 

"Didn't  expect  to  find  us  here,"  the  wretched  fool 
continued — "did  you?" 

"There's  something  on?*^'  Admaston  answered, 
going  towards  the  window  and  talking  as  he  went. 
"Racing  or  something,  isn't  there?" 

"Yes,"  Lord  Ellerdine  said.  "Auteuil.  Going 
out?" 

Lady  Attwill  appeared  at  the  window.  "Oh! 
Alice,"  Admaston  said. 

She  smiled  brightly,  extending  her  little  mani- 
cured hand,  upon  which  diamonds  and  sapphires 
flashed  and  sparkled  in  the  brilliant  li^t  of  the  sun. 
"How  do  you  do,  George?"  she  said.  "Who  ever 
expected  to  see  you  here?" 

"I  don't  run  over  often,"  Admaston  answered, 
just  taking  her  hand  and  no  more.  "But  I  thought 
you  were  at  St.  Moritz?" 

"St.  Moritz  ?  Oh ! — ^no.  We  changed  our  minds 
and  came  on  to  Paris." 

103 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Then  you  didn't  get  on  the  wrong  train?"  Ad- 
niaston  said  with  grim  politeness. 

The  wretched  Ellerdine,  who  had  retreated  to 
the  breakfast-table  and  sank  down  upon  a  chair, 
heard  this,  and  was  about  to  lay  his  head  in  the 
bacon  dish  with  alarm,  when  Lady  Attwill's  next 
words  did  a  little  to  reassure  him. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said  easily,  going  into  the  centre 
of  the  room;  "we  all  got  on  the  wrong  train,  but 
we  changed  our  minds  when  we  discovered  our 
mistake." 

"Good  thing  you  did  it  before  it  was  too  late." 

"Did  what?"  she  asked  in  a  flat  voice. 

"Why,  changed  your  minds  before  you  could 
change  on  to  the  right  train." 

"Wasn't  it!"  she  replied.  "And,  by  the  way,  I 
saw  an  old  friend  of  yours  on  the  train,  George." 

"And  who  was  that?"  Admaston  asked. 

"Sir  Peter  Stoke,"  she  answered. 

"Really!  But  he  must  have  been  on  the  right 
train.    He  was  going  to  the  Conference  at  Geneva." 

"Oh !"  she  replied,  "I  met  him  at  Boulogne." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  when  he  spoke  again 
Admaston's  voice  grew  colder  and  colder  with  every 
sentence. 

"Strange,"  he  said,  nodding  his  head  with  an 
appearance  of  thought  fulness.  "He  wrote  to  me 
from  Amiens,  where  he  has  been  staying  for  the 

104 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

past  week,  that  he  was  joining  the  train  there;  and 
Amiens  is  the  first  stop  on  the  Swiss  express,  isn't 
it?" 

Lady  Attwill  almost  whispered  her  assent 

"And  the  Paris  express  doesn't  stop  at  Amiens?" 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  Lord  Ellerdine  that  he 
was  being  left  out  of  the  conversation. 

"No,"  he  said  brightly. 

Admaston  turned  round  to  him. 

"Funny  that,  being  already  at  Amiens,  where 
the  Swiss  express  does  stop,  he  should  have  gone 
to  Boulogne  to  catch  it!" 

Even  the  diplomatist,  who  had  imagined  that 
things  were  going  better,  began  to  realise  the  game 
was  almost  up. 

"Yes,  damned  funny  of  him,  wasn't  it?"  he  said 
feeWy. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  an  absolute  silence 
in  the  room.  Outside,  the  roar  of  the  morning 
traffic,  the  tooting  of  motor  horns,  and  all  the  gay 
welter  of  things  which  marks  a  Parisian  morning  in 
fine  weather,  only  accentuated  the  silence  in  the 
richly  furnished  salon. 

Admaston  turned  and  walked  twice  up  and  down 
the  room.  Lord  Ellerdine  was  still  sitting,  guilty 
and  miserable  of  aspect,  in  his  chair  at  the  breakfast 
table.  Lady  Attwill  stood  quite  still  where  she  was, 
near  the  window.    They  were  both  waiting  to  hear 

105 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

what  should  come  next    Suddenly  Admaston  spoke. 

"You  found  Paris  very  full?"  he  said  in  his  icy 
voice. 

"Very,"  Alice  Attwill  replied;  "so  we  were  lucky 
to  get  in  here." 

"Here?"  the  big  man  asked. 

"Yes;  we  all  stayed  the  night  at  this  hotel.** 

"You  used  to  have  a  very  fine  old  parrot,"  Ad- 
maston said. 

There  was  spirit  in  the  woman.  She  gave  a  little 
toss  of  her  head.  "Er — I  have  her  still,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"Not  stuffed,  I  hope,"  he  said. 

"No,  indeed.    Alive  and  kicking." 

There  was  a  rattle  of  a  handle,  and  the  door  of 
CoUingwood's  room  opened  and  he  came  into  the 
room. 

He  gave  one  slight  start,  no  more,  and  his  manner 
immediately  became  easy  and  natural.  "Hallo !"  he 
said.     "Admaston !" 

The  big  man  regarded  him  gravely,  showing  no 
emotion  whatever. 

"Well,  Collingwood,"  he  said  very  slowly  and 
distinctly,  "I  thought  I  would  just  run  over  and 
see **     Then  he  stopped  speaking. 

"How  did  you  know  that  we  were  here?"  Col- 
lingwood said. 

"From  a  friend,"  Admaston  answered. 
io6 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

The  fool  had  to  have  his  say.  '^That's  very 
funny,  Admaston,"  he  said.  "We  didn't  know  oar- 
selves." 

"You  surprise  me.  Didn't  you  know  you  were 
going  to  St.  Moritz?" 

"Of  course  we  didn't  know,"  Lady  AttwiU  said 
quickly. 

"Then  how  on  earth  could  your  friend  know?" 
Lord  Ellerdine  asked. 

There  was  a  complete  pause.  Nobody  said  a 
word,  but  Admaston  was  the  centre  and  focus  of 
the  place.  All  eyes  went  to  him,  and  then  back 
and  round  to  each  other's.  He  stood  there,  how- 
ever, calm  and  imperturbable,  radiating,  as  it  were, 
not  ctfily  quiet  strength  and  absolute  determination, 
but  also  sending  out  rays  of  fear,  of  imeasiness  and 
disturbance. 

Lord  Ellerdine  broke  tiie  silence  with  his  plain- 
tive bleat,  repeating  his  former  sentence:  "Then 
how  on  earth  could  your  friend  know?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  said  Admaston. 
"But  why  on  earth  are  you  all  up  so  early?" 

Collingwood's  face  had  been  growing  sharp  and 
hostile,  his  nostrils  twitched  a  little;  he  seemed  now 
to  be  definitely  on  the  defensive,  ready  for  the  at- 
tack. What  he  said  was  this:  "Mrs.  Admaston 
wanted  to  go  out  early  to  see  the  people  en  route 
to  Auteuil." 

107 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Admaston  raised  one  firm,  shapely  hand  and 
brought  it  down  upon  the  back  of  the  other  with  a 
slow  movement  that  ended  in  a  little  "click"  of 
noise.  "Mrs.?"  he  said.  "Why  Mrs.  Admaston? 
Why  are  you  so  ceremonious,  Colling?  Why  not 
Peggy?" 

Collingwood  looked  dangerous,  sulky  and  dan- 
gerous. 

"Don't  know,"  he  said  shortly.  "I  thought  per- 
haps you  were  offended." 

"Offended?"  the  relentless  voice  continued — so 
cold,  relentless,  and  full  of  purpose  that  it  chilled 
them  all  as  it  echoed  out  into  the  room.  "Is  there 
any  reason  why  I  should  be  offended?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Lord  Ellerdine  in  a  staccato 
bleat. 

"Good  gracious!  What  an  idea!"  Alice  Attwill 
chimed  in. 

Admaston  turned  to  the  ex-diplomatist.  "Eller- 
dine," he  said,  "you  ought  not  to  sit  up  so  late. 
You  look  very  shaky  this  morning,  and  your  voice 
has  a  peculiarly  uncertain  sound." 

"Do  I  look  shaky,  old  man?  That  damned 
journey " 

"To  Paris,"  Admaston  said  quickly. 

'*Yes,  yes,  to  Paris." 

Admaston  went  up  to  him,  gazing  down  at  him 
with  calm,  reflective  eyes  as  a  mastiff  regards  some 

io8 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

terrified  small  dog.  "Late  suppers  don't  agree  with 
you,"  he  said. 

"With  me?"  asked  the  fool,  perplexed. 

"With  Dicky?  Late  suppers?"  Lady  Attwill  in- 
terrupted. 

There  was  again  a  momentary  pause. 

The  thing  was  closing  in.  The  conspirators  knew 
well  enough  that  they  were  being  played  with,  with 
the  cold  ferocity  of  a  cat  with  a  mouse.  They  were 
brave  still.  They  preserved  their  pitiful  pretences, 
but  to  the  heart  of  each  of  them  a  little  idcle  had 
come. 

"It  was  after  midnight  before  he  had  finished  his 
supper?"  Admaston  said. 

"When?"  Ellerdine  inquired. 

"Last  night,"  Admaston  rapped  out. 

"Dicky?"  Lady  Attwill  said.  "Why,  he  didn't 
have  any  supper  last  night." 

"Not  a  bally  mouthful,"  said  Lord  Ellerdine, 
shaking  his  head  mournfully. 

"Q)llingwood  told  me,"  Admaston  remarked, 
"that  you  had  just  finished  supper,  well  after  mid- 
night." 

"Well,  that  was  a  whopper,"  said  Lady  Attwill. 

"He  didn't  know,"  Ellerdine  spluttered  in. 

"Oh !  I  thought  not,"  Admaston  said.  "But  you 
all  stayed  here  last  night." 

At  that  moment  the  sun,  which  had  been  filling 
109 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

the  room  with  radiance,  had  become  obscured  by  a 
floating  cloud.  The  place  was  informed  by  a  mo- 
mentary greyness.  It  was  only  early  spring,  after 
all,  and  summer  with  its  perpetual  radiance,  its  per- 
petual heat,  its  otr  of  summer,  which  will  always 
make  a  room  cheerful  even  when  a  thunderstorm 
approaches,  had  not  yet  arrived. 

The  room  became  as  grey  as  the  faces  of  the 
people  who  were  in  it,  as  grey  and  cold  as  the  ac- 
cusing voice  which  could  not  be  silenced,  which  con- 
tinued remcwselessly.  "But  you  all  stayed  here  last 
ndg^t,"  Admastcai  repeated  slowly,  clearly,  and  with 
a  definite,  staccato  voice. 

Then  there  was  an  odd  chiming  of  tone.  The 
anxious  musical  contralto  of  Lady  Attwill  mingled 
with  the  more  anxious,  and  definitely  tremulous, 
bleat  of  the  diplomatist. 

"Oh  yes.    We  were  all  here,"  they  said  together. 

"But  no  supper?*' 

"No  supper,  George,"  Ellerdine  said  in  a  faint 
voice.  .  .  . 

The  door  opened  and  Jacques  of  Ecclefechan 
entered. 

He  looked  towards  Lord  Ellerdine.  "Your  man, 
my  lord,  to  see  you,"  he  said  in  excellent  Scotch- 
English. 

A  little  wizened,  elderly  man  with  grey  hair 
closely  cropped  to  his  head,  and  dressed  in  a  de- 
ne 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

corous  lounge  suit  of  Wack,  came  drooping  into  the 
room. 

His  face  was  anxious,  and  at  the  same  time 
pleased. 

"I  telephoned  to  Chalons,  my  lord,"  he  said. 

Lord  Ellerdine  jumped  up  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
sat  down  upon  a  pin. 

"What?"  he  said. 

"The  railway  people  are  sure  they  put  your  dis- 
patch-box on  the  2.43  with  you  and  Lady  Attwill." 

Lord  Ellerdine's  face  became  the  colour  of  brick. 
If  his  mouth  had  been  larger  it  would  have  foamed 
at  the  corners.    "Get  out !"  he  spluttered. 

The  little  man  started  back  a  step,  his  arms  shot 
out  in  amazement,  his  face  a  mere  mask  of  one. 

"My  lord!"  he  said. 

"Get  out!" 

The  poor  fellow  realised  that  there  was  obviously 
something  very  wrong.  It  was  a  situation  he  could 
only  deal  with  in  one  way,  and  that  was  by  being 
thoroughly  polite. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  from  whici  he 
vainly  tried  to  eliminate  the  amazement  he  felt. 

Admaston  turned  sharply  to  the  peer. 

**What,  Ellerdine?*'  he  said.  "Has  your  dispatch- 
box  got  on  the  wrong  train,  too?  What  a  chapter 
of  accidents!** 

Again  there  was  a  horrible  silence  in  the  place. 
Ill 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

It  was  broken  by  a  sudden,  loud  cry. 

Peggy  had  entered  from  her  room,  and  had  seen 
them  all  standing  there — like  figures  in  a  tableau 
in  the  big  hall  at  Madame  Tussaud's. 

"George!"  she  cried. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  singular  change  of 
poise  among  the  tense,  strained  people  who  were 
there. 

Lady  Attwill,  radiant  and  beautiful,  strolled  up 
to  the  piano. 

Admaston  remained  where  he  was.  Collingwood 
bent  forward,  almost  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  about 
to  spring. 

*^ell,  Peggy.    Going  out?"  Admaston  asked. 

"I  was,"  Peggy  answered ;  and  if  ever  guilty  fear 
was  manifested  in  a  human  voice,  the  people  in  that 
room  heard  it  now.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
to  people  who  have  been  upon  the  brink  of  crime  or 
misbehaviour — even  though  they  may  have  escaped 
it — the  su^idon,  when  they  are  confronted  with  it, 
has  much  the  same  efifect  upon  their  attitude  as  if 
the  thing  had  already  been  done.  The  nerves  of 
the  innocent  have  often  proclaimed  them  guilty  to 
the  most  indulgent  eyes. 

"I  was  going  out,"  Peggy  faltered. 

**Wait  a  mcwnent,"  Admaston  said. 

Peggy  almost  drooped  together. 

She  was  like  an  early  lily  of  the  valley  suddenly 
iia 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

witliered  by  a  sharp,  cold  wind — and  all  gardeners 
will  tell  one  how  sudden  and  complete  that  wither- 
ing and  collapse  can  be. 

"Very  well,"  the  girl  answered. 

Admaston  raised  his  right  hand  a  little,  while  he 
was  looking  at  her,  grave  and  straight.  Then  his 
arm  dropped  to  his  side. 

"Ellerdine  tells  me  that  you  all  got  on  the  wrong 
train  at  Boulogne." 

"Yes,"  Peggy  answered.  She  looked  anxiously, 
and  indeed  piteously,  at  the  others,  wondering  what 
they  had  been  saying,  longing  to  be  adequate,  con- 
scious of  her  own  innocence,  but  dreadfully  con- 
scious of  the  appearance  of  her  guilt. 

Admaston — and  nothing  escaped  him — saw  the 
way  her  look  flickered  round  the  salon. 

"You  did  ?"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  doom. 

She  did  the  fatal  thing;  she  answered  "Yes." 

"Ellerdine  also  says,"  Admaston  continued,  "that 
he  and  Lady  Attwill  stayed  here  last  night?" 

The  ex-diplomatist,  who,  though  he  was  a  perfect 
fool,  was  also  a  thorough  gentleman,  flushed  up 
and  spoke  in  a  voice  from  which  all  the  fear  and 
bleating  noise  had  gone. 

"Of  course  we  did,  Admaston,"  he  barked.  "Why 
the  devil — don't  you  believe  us?" 

But  it  was  of  no  use;  the  resolute,  ice-cold  voice 
went  on. 

"3 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"And  were  you  all  at  supper  at  midnight?** 

Peggy  brc4ce  in.  "Why  do  you  ask?"  she  said — 
and  if  ever  there  was  pain  and  yearning  in  a  human 
voice  it  was  in  hers  at  that  moment. 

"Because  Collingwood  told  me  that  you  were," 
Admaston  answered,  "and  Ellerdine  says  he  didn't 
have  any  supper.  Lady  Attwill  corroborates  Eller- 
dine's  statement." 

"Then  why  ask  me?  Don*t  you  believe  Colling?" 
Peggy  said  with  a  wail  of  despair. 

"No,  I  don't,"  Admaston  said  shortly. 

Collingwood  drummed  upon  the  carpet  with  his 
left  foot. 

"Admaston  T'  he  said. 

Admaston  turned  round  to  him,  and  his  face  be- 
came, for  the  first  time,  suflfused  with  blood. 

The  quiet  grey  eyes  blazed  with  anger;  the  big, 
capable  face  was  transformed  into  a  single  accusa- 
tion. The  voice,  at  last,  was  directly  accusing.  It 
was  wonderful  in  its  pain,  its  suppressed  horror, 
its  certain  purpose. 

"I  don't  believe  a  single  word  I  have  heard  since 
I  have  come  into  this  room,"  he  said. 

Lord  Ellerdine  took  a  step  towards  the  Minister. 
"By  God!  Admaston,"  he  said. 

Lady  Attwill  ran  up  to  Lord  Ellerdine  and  caught 
him  by  the  arm, 

114 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Dicky,  keep  quiet,"  she  said  in  a  frightened  but 
very  decisive  voice. 

"You  have  lied — ^you  lied  to  mc  on  the  telephone 
last  night." 

Collingwood  glared  at  him. 

"Telephone!"  Lord  Ellerdine  said,  also  turning  to 
Collingwood.  "Did  Admaston  speak  to  you  last 
night — on  the  telephone?" 

"Yes,"  Collingwood  answered. 

The  diplomatist  was  genuinely  distressed,  "My 
dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "why  didn't  you  tell  us?" 

"Would  that  have  saved  you  from  saying  that 
you  all  got  on  to  the  wrong  train?  Collingwood 
lied  to  me.  You  have  lied  to  me.  Lady  Attwill — 
well — I  beg  your  pardon  .  .  ." 

Collingwood  took  two  steps  towards  Peggy. 

"Why  should  you  come  catechising  us?"  he  said 
to  Admaston,  and  then  he  stepped  up  to  him. 

The  two  men  stood  in  front  of  each  other.  Ad- 
maston, with  a  white  fire  of  enragement  in  his  face, 
still  preserved  his  absolute  calm  of  poise.  His  hands 
were  clasped  behind  his  back,  his  whole  forceful 
personality  seemed  whetted  for  the  aggression  of 
the  other. 

Colli^g^vood,  on  the  other  hand,  was  panther-like 
and  alert.  He  almost  crouched  to  spring  at  the 
other.  He  was  a  little  younger,  infinitely  more 
debonnaire — probably  not  really  so  physically  pow- 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

erful,  but  at  least  lithe,  brave,  and  ready  for  any- 
thing. 

The  two  men  stood  there  for  a  moment,  when 
Peggy  ran  between  them.  "Oh!  don't!"  she  cried, 
spreading  out  her  arms — in  front  of  CoUingwood. 
She  seemed  to  fear  her  husband's  heavy  and  certain 
onslaught. 

She  protected  CoUingwood,  not  George  Admas- 
ton.  Doubtless  her  action  showed  her  knowledge 
of  the  stronger  man,  her  wish  to  protect  the  weaker 
from  his  attack.  But  it  was  certainly  most  un- 
fortunate. 

"Go!"  she  cried.  .  "Please  go!"  And  then,  turn- 
ing rapidly  to  Lord  Ellerdine,  "Dicky,  take  Alice 
away." 

Lord  Ellerdine  was  trembling  exceedingly.  He 
was  not  trembling  from  any  physical  fear.  He  would 
have  joined  in  the  row  with  perfect  happiness.  It 
would  have  suited  him  very  well.  He  knew  that 
he  had  cut  a  sorry  figure  on  this  occasion — and  he 
was  not  accustomed  to  cutting  sorry  figures.  He 
was  not  a  clever  man;  nobody  knew  it  better  than 
himself.  But  he  had  always  considered  himself  to 
be  an  honourable  one. 

Lady  Attwill  seemed  perfectly  composed.  Her 
face  did  not  alter  in  expression  at  all,  but  she  caught 
hold  of  her  friend  by  the  arm  and  led  him  out  of 
the  room. 

ii6 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEE 

The  last  thing  that  was  heard  as  the  two  departed 
was  the  plaintive  voice  of  the  ex-diplomatist:  "I 
knew  it — I  knew  it." 

Admaston  waited  until  the  door  was  closed,  and 
then  he  turned  to  Collingwood.  "Why  don't  you 
go?"  he  said, 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Collingwood  asked, 
facing  him. 

The  two  men  were  white  with  passion.  "What 
the  devil  has  that  got  to  do  with  you?"  Admaston 
said. 

"A  great  deal.  If  you  loved  your  wife  as  I  love 
her  you  would  understand  what  it  has  to  do  with 
me. 

"I  loved  her — and  trusted  her  implicitly,"  Ad- 
maston answered,  and  even  in  his  passion  his  wife 
could  detect  a  note  of  sorrow. 

"Your  presence  here  looks  like  it,"  Collingwood 
said  quickly.  "Why,  how  did  you  know  she  was 
here  unless  you  had  her  watched?  Loved  and 
trusted  her !  Good  God !  man,  you  never  knew  she 
existed  until  another  man  wanted  her!" 

"You  admit  that  you  wanted  her  I"  Admaston 
snarled  out. 

"Yes,"  the  other  answered,  standing  well  up;  "and 
much  good  may  the  admission  do  you.  I  wanted  her, 
and  I  fought  with  all  the  weapons  I  dared  employ, 
and  I  have  failed.    What  fight  have  you  made  for 

117 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

her?  It  was  her  own  purity  that  kept  her  sweet. 
It  was  that  purity  that  I  wanted,  but  I  have  lost  her." 
He  made  a  passionate  gesture  with  his  hands  which 
showed  how  deeply  he  was  moved — a  gesture  quite 
unlike  the  ordinary  English  habit. 

"If  you  have  any  instincts  of  a  gentleman,  you 
have  won,"  Admaston  answered. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Peggy,  who  stood  there  trembling,  gave  a  wail  of 
despair. 

"George,  you  cannot  mean " 

Admaston  took  no  notice  of  her. 

"Your  methods  have  not  been  over  nice,"  he  said 
with  biting  scorn :  "to  betray  your  friend — ^to  seduce 
his  wife." 

"That's  a  lie*!  I  don't  defend  myself — ^but  don't 
you  dare  to  say  a  word  against  her.  We  were  great 
friends.  I  loved  her,  and  thought  she  loved  me. 
But  she  doesn't;  she  loves  you." 

"Pretty  love !"  the  big  man  said.  "I  have  finished 
with  it  and  with  her." 

Again  there  came  a  wild  cry  from  the  trembling 
woman.     "George,  for  God's  sake!" 

Now  for  the  first  time  a  look  of  fear  came  into 
Collingwood's  eyes.  You  mean  to  cast  her  off?" 
he  said — "to  break  her  spirit?  No — no — you  dare 
not  do  it.  You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying — 
you  have  no  right  .  .  ." 

ii8 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"That's  for  the  court  to  decide,"  Admaston  an- 
swered. 

P^SSy  trJcd  to  step  up  to  him,  but  he  motioned 
her  not  to  advance  further. 

"Court !"  she  wailed.  "No,  George,  not  that !  I 
have  done  nothing,  George,  to  forfeit  your  love !" 

"Stop!  You  don't  realise  how  much  I  know.  I 
saw  a  letter  at  the  house  yesterday  before  four 
o'clock.  It  told  me  everything  you  intended  to  do 
— everything  you  have  done.  That  letter  brought 
me  over  after  you.  I  sent  a  detective  to  Boulogne 
to  meet  you." 

Peggy  shook  with  fear.  "That  man?*'  she  whis- 
pered to  herself,  with  a  light  of  horror  in  her  eyes. 

"Yes,"  Admaston  said.  "I  sent  him.  He  fol- 
lowed you  to  this  hotel.  He  was  here  last  night. 
He  is  in  the  hotel  now.  He  has  given  me  this  re- 
port, and  it  leaves  no  doubt  as  to  your  guilt." 

"My  guilt!  It  is  not  true,  George — I  swear  to 
you  it  is  not  true.  I  don't  care  what  you  have  done, 
or  what  letters  or  reports  you  have  received.  I  am 
your  wife.  I  didn't  love  you  at  first — ^you  knew 
that — I  was  honest,  I  told  you  all — but  now  .  .  ." 

"You  blind  fool!"  Collingwood  snarled  out  in  a 
fury  of  indignation,  "don't  you  see  what  you  are 
doing?  You  are  playing  my  game,  not  your  own. 
I  have  tried  to  win,  I  have  treated  her  pretty  badly, 
but  I  don't  want  to  win  her  now.    Don't  you  see, 

XI9 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

man,  if  you  call  in  the  court  to  break  her  wings 
you'll  only  drive  her  to  me?" 

"Yes,"  Admaston  answered  with  a  bitter  sneer, 
"I  see — and  you  don't  seem  very  anxious  to  go 
through  with  it." 

Collingwood  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  trem- 
bling with  the  desire  to  fly  at  his  throat.  He  re- 
strained himself,  however,  with  a  tremendous  ef- 
fort, and  with  an  inarticulate  growl  of  rage  turned 
and  left  the  room. 

Peggy  came  timidly  towards  her  husband. 
"George,  you  are  not  going  to  send  me  away?"  she 
said. 

Admaston  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  "My 
God!  Peggy,  you  lied  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  broken 
voice.  "A  lie — a  lie  on  your  lips!  Oh,  Peggy, 
Peggy,  what  have  I  done  to  you?" 

"George,  I  did  lie,"  she  wailed — "yes,  I  did;  but 
only  that,  only  that !  I  am  your  wife !  Believe  me ! 
believe  me!" 

"My  wife!  No — no!  How  am  I  to  believe  you ? 
How  am  I  to  tell  whether  that's  a  lie  or  not?" 

"It's  the  truth!"  she  reiterated,  her  voice  shrill 
with  pain.  "I  swear  it!  I  am  as  much  your  wife 
as  I  was  the  day  you  married  me." 

Unable  to  stand  longer,  she  sank  down  upon  the 
sofa,  sobbing  terribly. 

"You  have  broken  me,"  the  man  said — "crushed 

190 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

me.  Oh!  I  was  mad  to  let  you  do  it!  I  was 
a  fool  to  leave  you  alone!  But  I  trusted  you.  I 
laughed  at  the  gossip.  The  ridicule  only  made  my 
trust  in  you  the  greater.  I  worshipped  you,  adored 
you!  My  whole  life  was  a  prayer  to  you,  my  am- 
bition to  make  you  proud  of  me.  My  whole  aim  in 
life  was  to  win  you,  by  doing  big  things — for  you. 
And  now  it  is  all  turned  to  desecration — to  be  the 
mock  of  the  crowd!" 

"Forgive  me,  George,"  she  sobbed,  "forgive  me ! 
I'll  come  to  you.  I  am  humble,  not  you.  I  am 
struck  down,  crushed.  But  T\\  be  your  slave.  I 
am  still  your  wife.    I  am  still — — " 

He  gazed  at  her  searchingly,  "You  love  Colling- 
wood,"  he  said  in  a  hollow,  empty  voice. 

"No,  no!  There  was  a  time  when  I  thought  I 
did." 

"You  thought  you  did !  When  did  you  think  it  ? 
Last  night?" 

"No,  George,  no !  I  love  you !  I  knew  that  last 
night,  if  I  never  knew  it  before.  I  love  you, 
George !" 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  he  answered  coldly.  "You 
and  he  were  together  alone  when  I  telephoned." 

He  spoke  very  deliberately  now.  "Was  he,"  he 
asked — "was  he  with  you  when  I  telephoned  at  one 
o'clock?" 

.121 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Yes,"  Peggy  answered,  knowing  well  what  the 

admission  must  convey.    "Yes — but  .  .  ." 
"Alone  together  from  ten  o'clock?  .  .  ." 
"Yes,"  she  said,  still  more  faintly;  "but  .  .  .*' 
"Alone  together  from  the  time  I  telephoned?" 
"No,  no,  George ! — not  after  that ;  I  swear  it !" 
"I  know  far  too  much  to  believe  a  word  you  say," 

he  replied,  and  there  was  a  note  of  absolute  finality 

in  his  voice. 

She  saw  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind — that  she 

was  doomed. 

"I  know  too  much  to  believe  a  word  you  say," 

he  repeated.    "You  were  alone  with  him.    My  God ! 

Alone  with  him !" 

In  a  moment  or  two  Peggy  looked  up  through  a 

mist  of  tears.    The  room  was  empty. 
Peggy  was  left  alone. 


123 


CHAPTER  yi 

One  morning  upon  a  dull  day  in  the  late  summer 
of  the  same  year  in  which  Mrs.  Admaston  had 
stayed  at  the  Hotel  des  Tuileries  in  Paris,  Colonel 
Adams  came  down  to  breakfast  at  the  Cocoa  Tree 
Club.  He  ordered  his  grilled  kidneys  in  the  quaint, 
old-fashioned  dining-room,  with  its  rare  sporting 
prints  and  air  of  sober  comfort,  and  took  up  his 
morning  paper.  His  eyes  fell  upon  the  cause  list 
of  the  Royal  Courts  of  Justice,  and  he  sighed. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Henry  Passhe,  whose 
leave  from  India  had  been  extended  for  reasons  of 
health,  and  who  was  also  a  member  of  the  famous 
club  in  St.  James's  Street,  entered  and  sat  down  by 
his  friend. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "do  you  still  hold  to  your  reso- 
lution, Adams?" 

The  colonel  sighed,  and  put  down  his  knife  and 
fork.  "I  don't  know,  old  chap,"  he  said  doubtfully. 
"It's  different  for  you.  You  see,  you  don't  know 
Mrs.  Admaston.  I  know  her  quite  well,  and  I 
really  doubt  whether  it  is  the  chivalrous  thing  to 
do,  to  go  and  stare  at  her,  as  if  she  was  a  sort  of 

123 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

show.  She'll  be  undergoing  tortures  all  day,  poor 
little  thing!" 

"Just  as  you  like,"  Passhe  answered.  "I  confess 
to  great  curiosity  myself,  and  of  course  everyone 
who  can  possibly  get  in  will  be  going,  whether  they 
are  friends  of  Mrs.  Admaston  or  of  her  husband. 
It's  great  good  luck,  my  getting  two  seats  like  this ; 
but  don't  come  unless  you  like.  I  can  easily  find 
someone  else  who  will  be  only  too  glad  to  drop  in 
for  an  hour  or  two.  That's  all  I  want  to  do — just 
to  see  what's  going  on.  You  see  it  is  the  case  of  the 
century  almost.  I  am  not  up  in  the  statistics  of  this 
sort  of  thing,  but  I  doubt  if  a  Cabinet  Minister,  who 
is  also  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in  England,  has 
ever  brought  an  action  for  divorce  against  his  wife, 
who  is  not  only  as  rich  as  he  in  her  own  right,  but 
also  is  co-partner  in  one  of  the  biggest  financial 
houses  in  Europe.    That's  the  way  I  look  at  it." 

"Well,  I'll  come,"  the  colonel  said  suddenly.  "It 
can't  do  any  harm,  after  all;  and  I  am  sure  all  my 
sympathies  are  with  Mrs.  Admaston,  though  of 
course  .  .  ." 

Passhe  nodded.  "But  there  is  absolutely  no  doubt 
about  it,"  he  said,  "of  course.  But  naturally,  old 
chap,  the  fact  of  our  both  being  in  the  hotel  in  Paris 
at  the  very  time  it  all  happened  gives  the  thing  a 
special  interest  for  us.  When  I  go  back  to  India 
everybody  will  be  wanting  to  know  all  about  it;  and 

124 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

as  I  have  got  a  chance  to  be  present  at  part  of  the 
trial,  I  really  can't  forego  it." 

"That's  settled,  then,"  Adams  replied,  as  the  two 
men  strolled  into  the  big  smoke-room,  where  the 
brown-cased  Cocoa  Tree  is  put  with  all  its  old  as- 
sociations of  the  past.  They  fidgeted  about  a  little, 
smoked  a  cigarette,  while  they  looked  down  into  the 
busy  St.  James's  Street  from  the  great  Georgian 
windows,  looked  at  their  watches,  and  then  hailed  a 
taxi-cab  and  were  driven  to  the  Law  Courts. 


Court  II.  in  the  Probate,  Divorce,  and  Admiralty 
Division  of  the  High  Court  of  Justice  was  crowded 
almost  to  suffocation  as  the  two  men  entered  and 
found,  with  some  difficulty,  the  seats  which  had  been 
allotted  to  them.  They  settled  themselves  quietly  in 
their  places  in  the  well  of  the  court. 

The  President  was  writing  something  in  the  book 
before  him,  and  seated  below  the  judge  was  the  as- 
sociate, while  the  usher  stood  a  few  yards  away. 

Lots  of  people — and  these  the  most  fortunate — 
have  never  had  occasion  to  visit  a  law  court.  It 
was  so  with  Colonel  Adams.  This  was  the  first  time 
he  had  ever  entered  the  great  building  at  the  junction 
of  Fleet  Street  and  the  Strand,  and  he  gazed  round 
him  with  great  interest. 

125 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

He  saw  many  faces  that  he  knew.  Immediately 
around  him  were  the  privileged  of  society  sitting 
behind  the  solicitors;  Admaston,  Roderick  Colling- 
wood,  the  maid  Pauline,  and  Lord  Ellerdinc. 

In  the  second  row  the  leading  counsel  sat. 

Mr.  Meruies,  hawk-faced  and  saturnine  of  aspect, 
the  horse-hair  wig  which  framed  his  face  only  ac- 
centuating the  hatchet-like  alertness  of  his  counte- 
nance. Sir  Robert  Fyffe,  huge-framed,  and  with  a 
face  like  the  risen  moon.  Mr.  M'Arthur,  a  youthful- 
looking  man,  handsome  and  debonnaire,  but  with 
something  rather  dangerous  and  threatening  in  his 
face. 

Behind  the  leaders  sat  a  row  of  junior  counsel; 
and  then  Lady  Attwill,  other  members  of  society, 
and  the  two  friends  who  had  driven  from  the  Cocoa 
Tree  Club. 

The  gallery  at  the  back  of  the  court  was  packed 
with  people,  and  there  was  a  curious  hush  and  still- 
ness over  everything. 

All  eyes  were  directed  to  one  point — to  the  wit- 
ness-box, where  Mrs.  Admaston  was  standing. 

At  the  moment  when  the  two  men  entered  both 
Mr.  M'Arthur  and  Sir  Robert  Fyffe  were  standing 
up. 

'T  have  noted  your  question,  Mr.  M'Arthur,  and 
do  not  think  it  is  admissible  at  this  stage,"  the 
President  was  saying.     "No  doubt,  if  Sir  Robert's 

126 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

cross-examination  follows  a  certain  line,  you  can 
return  to  the  matter  when  you  re-examine  your 
witness." 

Sir  Robert  FyflFe  sat  down. 

"If  your  lordship  pleases/'  he  said. 

Mr.  M' Arthur  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  note- 
book. He  was  Mrs.  Admaston's  leading  counsel, 
and  his  examination  continued: 

"Now,  Mrs.  Admaston,  let  me  be  quite  sure  that 
you  cleariy  understand  the  charges  you  have  to  meet. 
It  is  alleged  that  you  arranged  to  miss  the  train  at 
Boulogne  in  order  to  spend  the  evening  in  Paris 
with  the  co-respondent.** 

"That  is  not  true,"  pierced  through  the  dull, 
blanket-like  silence  of  the  court 

Few  people  enough  have  any  experience  of  a  court 
They  read  long  and  large  accounts  of  what  goes  on 
in  the  daily  papers.  Well-known  descriptive  writers 
endeavour  to  present  a  true  picture  of  what  they 
themselves  have  witnessed.  And  in  the  result  al- 
most every  one  whose  experience  of  trials  is  taken 
almost  entirely  from  the  newspapers  imagines  that 
the  scene  of  justice  is  scxne  vast  hall.  It  is  all  mag- 
nified and  splendid  in  their  thoughts.  The  reality 
is  quite  different 

A  quite  small  room,  panelled,  badly  lighted, 
throoged    with    people  — this    is    the    real    theatre 

127 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

where  the  dramas  of  society  are  played  in  London 
town.  .  .  . 

"It  is  alleg^ed,"  Mr.  M' Arthur,  Peggy's  own  coun- 
sel, continued,  "that,  having  reached  Paris,  you  per- 
mitted Mr.  CoUingwood  to  engage  rooms — con- 
nected the  one  with  the  other." 

"I  did  not  know  that  Mr.  Collingwood's  room 
opened  out  of  mine,"  Mrs.  Admaston  said.  "It 
seems  the  hotel  was  full." 

Everyone  in  the  court — one  person  only  excepted 
— was  looking  at  the  slim  young  woman  in  the 
witness-box.  She  was  very  simply  dressed.  Her 
face  was  perfectly  pale,  but  her  self-possession  was 
marvellous. 

From  their  seats  behind  the  junior  counsel, 
Colonel  Adams  and  Henry  Passhe  looked  on  with 
sympathetic  interest 

Passhe — who  was  somewhat  of  a  psychologist — 
remarked  upon  the  extreme  simplicity  of  Mrs.  Ad- 
maston's  dress  to  his  friend.  "I  call  it  ostentatious," 
he  said,  "or  something  of  a  trick.  When  a  woman 
has  an  income  of  eighty  thousand  pounds  a  year 
quite  apart  from  her  husband,  it  seems  to  me  ex- 
aggerated humility  to  appear  in  the  clothes  that 
any  little  milliner  might  wear." 

Colonel  Adams  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He 
didn't  in  the  least  understand  his  friend's  point  of 
view.  .  .  . 

128 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"After  you  went  to  bed" — the  handsome  young- 
elderly  Mr.  M'Arthur  continued, — "it  is  said  that 
you  permitted  Mr.  Collingwood  to  enter  your  room 
— you  being  at  the  time  undressed — and  to  stay  there 
a  considerable  time." 

Peggy's  little  white-gloved  hands  rested  upon  the 
rail  of  the  witness-box. 

"I  don't  know  about  permitting,"  she  said  in  a 
clear  voice.  "He  came  in  because  he  heard  the  tele- 
phone. I  think  he  thought  that  I  had  gone  to  bed, 
and  that  the  call  might  be  from  our  friends." 

"At  anyrate,  he  came  in,  and  you  permitted  him 
to  stay?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  did.  I  asked  him  to  go,  but 
we  were  great  friends,  and — well — I  let  him  stay 
and  smoke  a  cigarette." 

The  court  was  dead  silent  now;  the  keen  face  of 
the  President  regarded  counsel  and  witness  with  an 
intent  scrutiny. 

The  society  people  who  were  there  looked  at 
each  other  and  held  their  breath.  The  junior  coun- 
sel leant  forward  from  their  benches,  keenly  atten- 
tive to  the  efforts  of  the  respondent's  friend. 

"It  is  alleged,"  Mr.  M'Arthur  continued,  "that 
while  you  were  alone  together  you  were  unfaithful 
to  your  husband." 

"That  is  a  lie."  The  voice  was  so  poignant,  so 
ringing,  so  instinct  with  indignation,  that  even  the 

129 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

President  looked  up  and  watched  the  witness  keenly. 
Mr.  M'Arthur  nodded  to  himself  as  if  very  pleased 
with  the  response  he  had  elicited.  He  put  his  hands 
together  and  made  a  motion  as  though  he  was 
congratulating  himself. 

When  he  looked  up  again  his  face  was  perfectly 
bright  and  cheerful. 

"I  will  put  this  generally,"  he  said.  "Have  you 
ever,  Mrs.  Admaston — ever,  on  any  occasion  or  in 
any  place — been  unfaithful  to  your  husband?" 

"Never — never — ^never !"  Peggy  replied.  .  .  . 

She  seemed  no  more  the  young  and  frivolous  per- 
son she  had  been.  Tense  and  strung  up,  her  per- 
sonality had  become  arresting  and  real — her  voice 
seemed  to  carry  conviction. 

Mr.  M'Arthur  looked  round  the  court — with  a 
half  glance  at  the  President — and  sat  down. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  the  very  gravest  doubt 
as  to  the  possible  success  of  his  case.  That  sleuth- 
hound.  Sir  Robert  Fyffe,  was  against  him,'  and  the 
case  itself  was  a  thoroughly  weak  one.  He,  ac- 
complished barrister,  actor,  and  man  of  the  world 
as  he  was,  sat  down  with  a  quietly  suggested  air  of 
triumph  that  impressed  every  one. 

Sir  Robert  Fyffe  rose. 

Sir  Robert  Fyffe  was  the  absolute  leader  in  his 
own  particular  line.  There  was  something  so  red- 
faced  and  jolly  about  him — such  a  suggestion  of 

130 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

friendliness  even  when  he  was  most  deadly, — ^that 
the  eminence  he  enjoyed  was  very  well  deserved. 
His  voice  was  mellow;  indeed,  it  was  more  than 
that,  and  had  a  suggestion  of  treacle. 

He  looked  at  Mrs.  Admaston  with  a  bland  smile. 

"You  will,  I  am  sure,  admit,  Mrs.  Admaston, 
that  the  events  of  the  23rd  March  give  ground  for 
very  grave  suspicion." 

Peggy  Admaston  did  not  seem  at  all  distressed 
by  this  question.  Her  voice  showed  the  pain  that 
she  was  enduring,  but  all  her  answers  to  counsel 
were  delivered  clearly  and  openly.  They  had  either 
a  frank  innocence  about  them,  or  else  she  was  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  most  accomplished  actresses  and 
liars  of  her  time. 

"Some  persons  are  more  suspicious  than  others," 
Peggy  answered. 

"And  one  would  be  more  justly  suspicious  of 
some  persons  than  of  others!*" 

"Yes,  perhaps  so." 

"And  may  I  take  it  that  you  class  yourself  among 
those  persons  upon  whom  suspicion  should  not 
readily  fall?" 

Peggy  nodded  vigorously.    "I  think  so,"  she  said. 

The  great,  round,  red  face  of  Sir  Robert  beamed 
upon  her  in  the  kindliest  way.  His  voice — which 
carried  right  through  the  court — was  still  ingratiat- 
ing and  honey-g>v?et. 

?3^ 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"You  say/'  he  said,  "that  your  husband  ought  not 
to  have  allowed  even  these  circumstances  to  make 
him  suspect  you?" 

"He  had  always  trusted  me  implicitly,"  she  re- 
plied. 

The  accomplished  counsel  made  a  remark  sotto 
voce.    "Perhaps  too  implicitly,"  he  said. 

Mr.  M 'Arthur  jumped  up  in  a  second  and  looked 
at  the  judge. 

"My  learned  friend  has  no  right  to  say  that,"  he 
said. 

The  President,  with  his  air  of  taking  very  little 
interest  at  all  in  the  proceedings,  raised  his  eyelids. 

"I  did  not  hear  what  he  said,"  he  remarked 
blandly. 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  M'Arthur;  /  don't  mind  Sir 
Robert,"  Peggy  said  from  the  witness-box  very 
sweetly. 

"I  am  sure  we  shall  get  on  very  well,"  Sir  Robert 
replied.  "Now,  Mrs.  Admaston,  I  suppose  you 
were  very  annoyed  at  finding  you  were  in  the  wrong 
train?" 

"I  was  annoyed,  I  suppose,"  Peggy  answered; 
"but  not  very  seriously.  You  see,  it  really  didn't 
matter  very  much." 

Sir  Robert  nodded  his  great  bewigged  head.  "I 
suppose  not,"  he  said.     "Was  it  your  fault?" 

The  girl's  clear  accents  rang  out  into  the  court. 
J  33 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"I  don't  think  it  was  anybody's  fault,  except  the 
fussy  customs  officer's." 

"This  fussiness  could  have  been  avoided  by  regis- 
tering the  luggage  through — yes  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  Peggy  answered  Sir  Robert. 

The  big  man  leant  forward  with  the  most  ingrati- 
ating face.  "Can  you,"  he  asked,  "suggest  any  rea- 
son why  the  luggage  was  not  registered?" 

"I  believe  it  was  the  mistake  of  a  porter  at  Charing 
Cross." 

"The  mistake  of  a  porter,  the  fussiness  of  a 
custom-house  officer — quite  a  chapter  of  accidents !" 
Sir  Robert  continued  blandly. 

Mrs,  Admaston  seemed  to  find  something  con- 
soling in  the  voice  of  the  great  K.C. 

"Wasn't  it !"  she  said  brightly. 

Tliere  was  no  response  in  the  manner  or  in  the 
voice  of  Mr.  Admaston's  counsel. 

"Was  your  luggage  with  Mr.  Collingwood's  at 
Charing  Cross?"  he  asked — blandly  still,  but  with 
a  threatening  hint  of  what  was  to  come  in  his  voice. 

"All  the  luggage  was  together  when  I  saw  it." 

"All  ?    The  luggage  of  the  whole  party  ?" 

"Yes,"  Peggy  replied. 

"Was  it  labelled,  Mrs.  Admaston  ?  I  mean,  apart 
from  the  railway  labels?" 

"Mine  wasn't." 

133 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Don't  you  generally  label  your  luggage  when 
you  go  abroad?"  Sir  Robert  continued. 

"I  always  do." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Admaston,  why  did  you  not  do  so 
this  time?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  Peggy  answered,  "Mr.  Colling- 
wood,  who  is  a  great  traveller,  chaffed  me  about 
being  such  an  old  maid.  He  said  it  was  quite  un- 
necessary." 

The  big  moon-faced  counsel  almost  jumped — ex- 
perienced as  he  was — at  this  remark. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  "Mr.  Collingwood  said  that,  did 
he?" 

"It  was  lucky,"  Peggy  replied;  "wasn't  it?" 

Suddenly  the  President  looked  up.  His  kindly 
but  austere  face  became  surprised. 

"Lucky?"  he  said. 

Peggy  turned  towards  the  judge.  "Yes,  my  lord," 
she  said;  "otherwise  I  should  have  reached  Paris 
without  any  clothes." 

The  President  nodded  gravely.  "Yes,  I  see,"  he 
said.  "The  boxes  fortunately  made  the  same  mistake 
as  you  did." 

Peggy  laughed.  "Yes,  Sir  John,"  she  said,  and 
as  she  did  it  there  was  a  little  ripple  of  amusement 
round  the  crowded  court. 

Of  course,  everybody  knew  that  the  judge  who 
^34 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

was  trying  this  case  had  met  the  Admastons  over 
and  over  again. 

Every  one  there,  with  the  exception  of  the  people 
in  the  gallery,  was  a  member  of  what  is  called  so- 
ciety. Peggy,  in  her  innocent  simplicity,  could  not 
quite  differentiate  between  Sir  John  Burroughes, 
who  was  trying  the  case  of  her  innocence  or  guilt, 
and  Mr.  M'Arthur  or  Sir  Robert  Fyffe,  K.C.,  M.P. 
She  was  bewildered.  She  had  met  all  these  men  at 
dinner-parties  or  receptions.  She  still  thought  that 
this  was  all  a  kind  of  weird  game.  She  did  not 
realise  that  Sir  Robert  Fyffe  was  about  to  hunt  her 
to  the  death  of  her  reputation,  or  that  Sir  John  Bur- 
roughes— the  President — would  give  his  judgment 
without  fear  or  favour. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  a  little  ripple  of 
laughter  right  through  the  court  when  she  addressed 
the  President  as  "Sir  John." 

Sir  Robert  Fyffe  continued  his  examination. 
"Very  lucky,  Mrs.  Admaston,"  he  said  grimly.  "And 
did  Mr.  ColIingAvood's  luggage  make  the  same  mis- 
take as  yours?" 

"Yes,"  Peggy  answered. 

"And  the  luggage  belonging  to  Lord  Ellerdine 
and  Lady  Attwill  had  the  intelligence  to  go  straight 
to  Chalons?" 

"Yes,"  Peggy  answered  again. 

135 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Didn't  it  strike  you  as  rather  odd  that  your  lug- 
gage should  not  have  been  registered?" 

Peggy  tried  to  recollect.  "No,  it  didn't,"  she 
said.    "It  struck  my  maid  as  odd,  I  remember." 

A  keen  note  came  into  Sir  Robert  Fyffe's  voice. 
The  blandness  and  suavity  seemed  to  have  left  it. 

"It  struck  your  maid  as  odd?"  he  said  sharply. 

"Maids  who  are  devoted  to  us  are  often  more 
suspicious  than  we  are,"  Peggy  answered.  "Don't 
you  think  so,  Sir  Robert  ?" 

The  big  red  face  turned  full  upon  her  for  a  mo- 
ment. People  who  watched  it  carefully  might  have 
discerned  a  slight  expression  of  compunction.  He 
had  known  this  little  butterfly  in  private  life,  but  now 
professional  considerations  overbore  everything.  He 
was  Sir  Robert  Fyffe  because  he  did  his  job — had 
always  done  his  job. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  not  here  to  say  what  I  think," 
he  answered  quickly. 

Peggy  realised  the  situation  in  a  moment.  She 
was  fighting  desperately,  but  nothing  gave  an  index 
to  the  fact. 

"Oh,  we  all  know  that,  Sir  Robert !"  she  said,  and 
there  was  a  slight  murmur  and  ripple  of  laughter 
through  the  court. 

The  President  raised  his  eyes  above  his  glasses 
and  stared  gravely  round. 

Silence  was  restored. 

136 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Your  maid's  luggage,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "had  the 
good  fortune  to  reach  Paris  too?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  Mr.  Collingvvood  attend  to  the  luggage  at 
Charing  Cross — the  luggage  of  the  whole  party,  I 
mean?" 

"Yes,  I  think  he  did." 

"Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Admaston,  that  you  would 
remember  the  porter  who  made  the  mistake?" 

Peggy  seemed  to  be  trying  to  remember  some- 
thing. "No,"  she  said  doubtfully.  "I  don't  think 
I  could."  ' 

"Do  you  remember  having  a  conversation  with 
him?"  Sir  Robert  continued,  his  face  as  bland  and 
confidential  as  any  face  could  be. 

"No,  I  don't  remember." 

"Your  name  was  on  your  boxes  in  full,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Admaston,  don't  you  remember 
having  a  talk  with  him  about  your  husband?" 

Peggy  looked  up  brightly.  Something  seemed  to 
have  struck  her. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said  quickly.  "Wasn't  he  a  con- 
stituent ?" 

Sir  Robert  bowed  sweetly.  "I  think  he  was,"  he 
said.  "At  anyrate,  a  great  admirer."  Then  he 
turned  round.    "Will  Mr.  Stevens  please  stand  up  ?" 

Just  behind  the  barristers  and  the  seats  in  which 
137 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

the  society  people  were  sitting,  a  broad,  short,  and 
sturdy  man  rose  from  the  pit  of  the  court. 

"Now,"  Sir  Robert  said  to  Mrs.  Admaston,  "do 
yoii  recognise  him?" 

Peggy  leant  over  the  rail  of  the  box  with  real 
interest-^if  it  was  not  affectation. 

"No,"  she  said  doubtfully;  "I  could  not  say  for 
certain." 

"But  if  Mr.  Stevens  can  swear  that  he  is  the  man 
with  whom  you  had  the  conversation?" 

"Oh!  then  he  must  be  right,  Sir  Robert,"  Peggy 
answered. 

Mr.  Menzies  rose  in  his  place.  "My  client,  Mr. 
Collingwood,  recognises  the  man,  m'lud — there  is 
no  doubt  about  it." 

"Very  well,"  the  President  answered  quietly.  "We 
shall  have  that  later." 

"So  that  is  the  porter  who  made  the  mistake," 
Sir  Robert  resumed  in  a  voice  full  of  meaning. 
"You  can  sit  down,  Mr.  Stevens.  Would  you  be 
surprised  to  hear  that  your  luggage  and  Mr.  Colling- 
wood's  was  not  registered,  upon  the  express  instruc- 
tions of  Mr.  Collingwood,  and  that  Lord  Ellerdine's 
and  Lady  Attwill's  luggage  was  registered  through, 
also  upon  his  instructions  ?" 

Mr.  M'Arthur  rose.  "My  lord,"  he  said,  "this 
cannot  be  evidence  against  my  client.     Even  if  Mr. 

138 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Collingwood  was  acting  as  her  agent,  such  instruc- 
tions were  clearly  outside  his  authority." 

Sir  Robert  glanced  round  quickly.  "One  moment, 
Mr.  M'Arthur,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  full  of  meaning. 
"If  it  should  turn  out,  Mrs.  Admaston,  that  Mr. 
Collingwood  gave  express  instructions  that  your 
luggage  should  not  be  registered — that,  you  say,  was 
not  according  to  your  instructions  ?" 

"It  is  incredible  that  he  should  have  given  such 
instructions,"  Peggy  said. 

"Incredible !"  said  Sir  Robert  FyflFe. 

"Unless "  Peggy  replied,  then  stopped  short 

and  bit  her  lip. 

Every  one  in  the  court  noticed  that  the  judge 
had  lifted  his  head  and  was  looking  keenly  at  her. 

"Well  ?  Unless  what,  Mrs.  Admaston  ?"  Sir  Rob- 
ert Fyffe  asked  quickly. 

Peggy  did  not  answer  at  all. 

"Shall  I  finish  it  for  you  ?"  Sir  Robert  continued, 
with  his  famous  little  menacing  gesture  of  the  right 
hand.  "Unless  he  had  intended  to  give  his  friends 
the  slip  at  Boulogne,  and  stay  the  night  in  Paris  with 
you.    Is  that  what  you  were  going  to  say  ?" 

"Yes,  it  was,  for  a  moment,"  the  girl  answered, 
"until  it  struck  me  how  absurd  it  was." 

"It  strikes  you  as  absurd,  does  it?" 

"Yes,  it  does  rather,"  she  replied. 

"I  suppose  it  would  strike  you  as  equally  absurd 

139 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

that  Mr.  Colling^^ood  had  already  engaged  rooms 
at  the  Hotel  des  Tuileries  for  himself  and  a  lady, 
two  days  before  you  left  London  ?  Or  do  you  think 
the  rooms  were  engaged  for  some  other  lady?" 

"I  don't  believe  they  were  engaged  at  all  before 
we  arrived,"  came  the  answer  quickly. 

Sir  Robert  nodded  his  big  head.  "We  shall  hear, 
no  doubt,  from  Mr.  Collingwood,  Am  I  to  take  it, 
then,  that  you  had  no  knowledge  of  the  fact  that 
your  luggage  was  not  registered,  and  that  you  had 
no  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Collingwood 
had  already  taken  rooms  for  himself  and  a  lady 
before  you  left  London?" 

"I  had  no  knowledge  whatever — none  at  all," 
Peggy  replied  with  great  emphasis. 

"And  I  think  you  told  my  learned  friend  in 
examination-in-chief  that  you  had  no  knowledge  of 
the  fact  that  both  your  bedroom  and  Mr.  Colling- 
wood's  opened  out  of  the  same  sitting-room  ?" 

"That  is  so,  Sir  Robert." 

"I  think  you  telegraphed  to  Chalons  when  you 
got  to  Paris  to  tell  Lord  Ellerdine  of  your  mistake  ?" 

"Mr.  Collingwood  did  so  for  me." 

"And  to  your  husband  ?" 

"No;  that  was  not  necessary." 

In  some  subtle,  but  very  real  fashion,  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  court  was  becoming  more  and  more 
charged  with  excitement.     Everybody  was  sitting 

140 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

perfectly  still.  All  eyes  were  directed  to  the  slim 
figure  of  the  girl  in  the  witness-box.  The  hush  was 
not  broken  by  any  sounds,  save  only  that  of  the  great 
counsel's  voice  with  its  deadly  innuendo,  its  remorse- 
less logic  of  fact,  and  the  replies  of  the  sweet-voiced 
girl. 

"Why  not?"  Sir  Robert  asked,  with  a  deep  note 
of  suggestion. 

"I  did  not  want  to  worry  him  with  our  silly  mis- 
takes," was  the  answer;  and  even  as  she  gave  it 
Peggy's  heart  sank  like  lead  within  her,  realising 
how  inadequate  and  feeble  it  sounded. 

"Did  you  think  that  it  would  annoy  your  husband 
to  think  that  you  and  Mr.  Collingwood  were  alone 
in  Paris?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  she  replied. 

"Then  why  didn't  you  tell  him  ?  You  had  nothing 
to  hide?" 

"Nothing  whatever." 

There  was  a  pause.  Sir  Robert's  face  still  wore 
an  expectant  look.  He  was  obviously  waiting  for 
a  reply. 

It  came  at  length,  and  every  person  in  the  court 
as  they  heard  it  smiled,  frowned,  or  sighed  accord- 
ing to  their  several  temperaments. 

"I  really  don't  know  why  I  didn't  tell  him." 

"Let  me  suggest  a  reason.  You  didn't  tell  be- 
cause you  didn't  want  him  to  know?" 

141 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"I  don't  think  that  is  true,"  Peggy  answered. 

"Come,  Mrs.  Admaston;  you  heard  the  evidence 
of  the  detective?" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"He  has  told  the  jury  that  when  the  telephone 
message  came  through  from  your  husband  you  were 
in  the  room;  that  you  stayed  by  and  heard  the  co- 
respondent tell  your  husband  that  Lord  Ellerdine 
was  staying  at  the  hotel — a  deliberate  lie;  and  that 
you  refused  to  speak  to  your  husband.  Is  that  true  ?" 

The  answer,  the  miserable  answer,  came  in  the 
faintest  of  voices  from  the  box : 

"Yes." 

And  now  there  was  every  sign  of  what  the  news- 
papers call  a  "sensation"  in  court.  Colonel  Adams 
and  Henry  Passhe  looked  at  each  other  significantly. 
"That's  done  for  her,"  Passhe  whispered  to  his 
friend.  Ladies  nudged  each  other.  The  reporters 
wrote  furiously.  The  judge  leaned  forward  a  little 
more  over  his  desk. 

"Why  did  you  connive  at  this  lie?" 

"I  don't  know.     Really,  I  don't  know." 

"Why  did  you  refuse  to  speak  to  your  husband  ?" 

Peggy  was  silently  gazing  downwards. 

"You  have  told  us  that  it  would  not  have  annoyed 
your  husband  to  think  that  you  and  Mr.  Collingwood 
were  alone  in  Paris." 

142 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Why  should  it  have  annoyed  him,"  Peggy  an- 
swered, "if  it  were  an  accident?" 

"Exactly!"  Sir  Robert  continued — "if  it  were  an 
accident.  I  put  it  to  you  that  the  only  fact  which 
made  you  afraid  to  speak  to  your  husband  was  be- 
cause you  knew  it  was  not  an  accident,  and  that  he 
had  just  cause  for  resentment" 

"That  is  not  true,"  Peggy  said,  with  a  little  flicker 
of  the  spirit  she  had  shown  at  first. 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  unfair,"  said  Sir  Robert  Fyffe 
— and  no  man  at  the  Bar  was  fairer  than  the  famous 
counsel  in  his  cross-examinations. 

"You  are  not  unfair,  Sir  Robert,"  Peggy  said; 
"but,  oh!  it  is  all  unfair." 

Sir  Robert  gave  a  little  sigh,  which  may  or  may 
not  have  been  a  genuine  expression  of  feeling,  but 
was  probably  sincere  enough.  His  duty  lay  before 
him,  however,  and,  like  some  sworn  torturer  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  he  must  pursue  it  to  the  end. 

"I  must  press  you  upon  this  point,"  he  said. 
"What  made  you  afraid  to  tell  your  husband  that 
you  were  alone  in  Paris?  What  made  you  agree 
with  Mr.  Collingwood,  Lord  Ellerdine,  and  Lady 
Attwill  to  say  that  you  had  not  been  alone  with  Mr. 
Collingwood  in  Paris?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you,"  Peggy  answered.  "I  was  very 
upset,  and  really  not  quite  myself." 

"Not  quite  yourself?"  followed  upon  the  heels  of 
143 


A  BUTreRFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

her  answer  with  lightning  rapidity.  "Very  upset? 
What  had  happened  to  upset  you?" 

Peggy  made  a  motion — an  instinctive  motion — 
as  if  to  free  herself  from  something,  something  that 
was  slowly  but  surely  tightening  round  her.  Every 
one  noticed  it,  every  one  understood  it. 

"Nothing,"  she  said  at  length. 

At  this  there  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  through 
the  court,  and  cutting  in  upon  it,  before  it  had  quite 
died  away,  the  accusing  voice  was  heard :  "Nothing? 
If  that  is  so,  can  you  give  any  reason  why  Lord 
Ellerdine  and  Lady  Attwill  should  have  connived  at 
this  deception?" 

"I  suppose  they  thought  they  were  shielding  me." 

"Shielding  you!"  Sir  Robert  cried  in  mock  sur- 
prise. "From  what  ?  Tell  me,  Mrs.  Admaston,"  he 
continued,  as  Peggy  looked  round  the  court  help- 
lessly— "tell  me,  do  you  think  that  Lord  Ellerdine 
— ^he  is  an  old  friend?" 

"Yes,  a  dear  old  friend,"  Peggy  said,  glad  to  be 
able  to  say  something  for  a  moment  which  did  not 
tell  against  her. 

"Do  you  think  that  Lord  Ellerdine  and  Lady  Att- 
will believed  that  you  were  in  Paris,  by  accident?" 

"How  can  I  tell  ?"  Peggy  replied,  not  in  the  least 
seeing  to  what  this  was  leading. 

"Have  you  any  doubt?  Why  do  you  think  that 
Lord  Ellerdine  returned  to  Paris  by  the  night  train 

144 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

instead  of  letting  you  join  them  at  Chalons,  except 
that  he  thought  something  was  very  seriously 
wrong?" 

"I  have  told  you/'  Peggy  replied,  "that  he  thought 
he  was  shielding  me." 

"But  you  have  not  told  me  from  what  he  thought 
he  was  shielding  you.  What  was  he  to  shield  you 
from?" 

"Nothing,"  Peggy  said  once  more.  And  again 
there  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  throughout  the  court. 

At  this  Sir  Robert  Fyffe  allowed  himself  his  first 
look  at  the  jury,  and  a  most  significant  one  it  was. 
Then  he  turned  quickly  to  the  witness-box.  "Noth- 
ing!" he  cried.  "Then  why  did  you  invent — or 
connive  at  the  invention  of — this  story?" 

"Why  did  I?"  the  girl  said  helplessly.  "I  don't 
teow.  I  thought  it  foolish.  I  saw  that  they  had 
told  a  lying  story  to  my  husband,  thinking  to  serve 
me,  and  I  didn't  want  to  give  them  away." 

"You  lied  to  your  husband  because  you  didn't 
wish  to  give  your  good-natured  friends  away.  Is 
that  really  your  reason,  Mrs.  Admaston?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "and  I  loathed  myself  ior 
it." 

"It  was  perhaps  the  first  time  that  you  had  de- 
ceived your  husband  ?"  Sir  Robert  said  blandly. 

"Yes,"  came  the  answer  with  a  pause,  and  very 
faintly  given. 

145 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"You  arrived  at  the  hotel  under  the  impression 
that  your  presence  in  Paris  was  due  to  a  mistake?" 

"Yes." 

"You  supped  in  your  room  with  Mr.  Colling- 
wood  ?*' 

"Yes." 

"And  what  time  did  you  sup?" 

"About  lo  or  10.15." 

"What  did  you  do  after  supper?  I  suppose  you 
finished  about  1 1  ?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  Peggy  replied. 

"Well— what  did  you  do?  The  table,  I  think, 
was  not  cleared  before  you  retired  to  bed — that  is 
so,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"How  did  you  spend  the  time  between  11  and 
12.30?" 

"We  were  talking." 

"No  doubt  you  told  the  waiter  not  to  clear  away 
so  that  you  should  not  be  disturbed?" 

"I  really  forget,"  Peggy  said. 

"At  anyrate,  you  were  not  disturbed?" 

"No." 

"And  spent  a  charming  evening?" 

"Yes." 

"Unspoilt  by  any  idea  that  your  presence  there 
was  due  to  a  deliberate  and  successful  device  to  give 
your  companions  the  slip?" 

146 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Helpless  as  she  was  in  those  skilled,  remorseless 
hands,  Peggy  nevertheless  flared  up  at  this. 

"To  have  had  such  an  idea,"  she  said,  with  a  dig- 
nity which  was  strangely  piteous  under  the  circum- 
stances, "would  have  been  an  insult  to  Mr.  Colling- 
wood." 

"Always  assuming,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "that  Mr. 
Collingwood  made  his  plans  without  your  knowl- 
edge." 

"I  don't  believe  that  Mr.  Collingwood  made  the 
plans  you  suggest." 

"And  nothing  will  shake  your  faith  in  Mr.  Col- 
lingwood?" said  Sir  Robert  with  great  suavity. 

"My  faith  in  him  is  not  likely  to  be  shaken  by 
the  hired  evidence  of  detectives,  railway  porters,  or 
hotel  servants." 

"You  mustn't  talk  like  that,  Mrs.  Admaston,"  the 
judge  said  gravely. 

"When  did  it  first  seem  to  you  that  your  presence 
in  Paris  was  not  due  to  a  mistake?"  Sir  Robert 
went  on. 

"My  maid  hinted  it  to  me  while  she  was  doing 
my  hair  before  I  went  to  bed." 

"Your  maid  is  an  old  and  privileged  servant  ?" 

"She  is  far  more  than  a  servant.  She  is  a  devoted 
friend." 

"You  are  sure  of  that  ?" 

"Absolutely." 

^7 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Sir  Robert  nodded  to  himself,  and  his  nod  sent 
a  shiver  of  apprehension  through  the  girl  in  the 
witness-box. 

"The  subject  admits  of  no  discussion  ?*'  he  asked, 
and  there  was  a  suppressed  eagerness  in  his  voice. 

"None,"  Peggy  answered. 

Sir  Robert  nodded  again.  **Very  well,"  he  said 
sotto  voce.  "You  have  told  me  that  you  were  an- 
noyed, but  not  seriously,  at  missing  the  train,  and  I 
suppose,  Mrs.  Admaston,  I  may  add  at  finding  your- 
self in  Paris?" 

The  examination  seemed  to  have  fallen  a  little 
from  its  strained  note. 

"That  is  so,"  Peggy  replied,  slightly  relieved. 

"Did  Mr.  Collingwood  seem  much  distressed  at 
the  turn  of  events  ?"  asked  Sir  Robert. 

And  then — it  might  have  been  rising  hysteria,  or 
it  might  have  been  a  totally  innocent  misapprehen- 
sion of  what  was  going  on,  but  Peggy  laughed. 

Her  laugh  went  rippling  out  into  the  court. 

"He  did  not  seem  inconsolable,"  she  said. 

Her  laughter  was  echoed  by  that  of  every  one  in 
the  court;  even  Sir  Robert's  red  and  genial  face 
relaxed  into  a  smile. 

"And  I  daresay,"  he  said  in  quite  a  kindly  voice, 
— "I  daresay  you  would  as  soon  be  stranded  in 
Paris  with  Mr.  Collingwood  as  with  any  one  ?" 

148 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Oh,  much  sooner,"  Peggy  said.  "He  is  a  very 
charming  companion." 

"Perhaps,"  Sir  Robert  Fyffe  answered,  "I  may 
allow  myself  to  say  the  same  of  his  companion?" 

Peggy  smiled  brightly.  "Well,"  she  said,  "it  would 
not  be  the  first  time  you  had  said  so.  Sir  Robert." 

"Nor  will  it  be  the  last,  Mrs.  Admaston,"  the 
K.C.  replied  with  a  courtly  bow,  and  a  really  charm- 
ing smile  upon  his  face. 

Then  suddenly  he  stood  a  little  more  upright, 
shifted  the  gown  upon  his  shoulders,  touched  his 
wig,  and  looked  at  Peggy  keenly.  He  was  once 
more  the  keen  advocate  doing  his  duty,  whatever 
it  might  cost  him  in  personal  emotion. 

"But  we  must  pass  on,"  he  said.  "Very  well. 
You  finished  supper  at  last,  and  about  12.30  you 
went  to  bed.  Your  maid  joined  you  and  you  got 
undressed."  Here  Sir  Robert  put  his  pince-nez  upon 
his  nose,  and  leant  over  to  see  the  ground-plan  of 
the  rooms  of  the  Hotel  des  Tuileries,  which  the  so- 
licitor on  the  bench  before  him  held  up  for  his  in- 
spection. 

Sir  Robert  looked  at  the  coloured  plan  for  a 
moment  with  intense  scrutiny.  Then,  having  re- 
freshed his  memory,  he  turned  his  face  once  more 
to  the  witness-box. 

"Mr.  Collingwood,"  he  continued,  "had  left  you 
by  the  door  leading  into  the  passage,  I  suppose?" 

149 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Yes,"  Peggy  replied. 

"You  had  no  idea  that  he  was  occupying  the 
room  communicating  with  yours?" 

"None." 

"You  then  sent  your  maid  to  bed?" 

"Yes." 

"And  it  was  shortly  after  that  that  the  telephone 
bell  rang — the  call  from  Chalons?" 

"Very  shortly  after,"  Peggy  replied. 

She  seemed  to  be  extremely  interested  in  this 
conversation  between  herself  and  Sir  Robert  Fyfife 
— interested  in  it  as  if  she  were  playing  some  game 
of  which  the  issue  would  not  matter.  At  this  period 
of  the  famous  cross-examination  she  seemed  to  be 
perfectly  bright  and  unconcerned. 

"And  you  went  to  answer  it?"  Sir  Robert  went 
on. 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

Sir  Robert  clutched  the  bands  of  his  gown  and 
looked  at  her  with  the  very  keenest  scrutiny. 

"And  will  you  tell  my  lord  and  the  jury  what 
happened?"  he  said. 

"While  I  was  speaking — I  had  my  back  to  the 
door — I  suddenly  heard  Mr.  Collingwood's  voice 
behind  me." 

Sir  Robert  started.  "You  were  surprised — 
startled?"  he  said  in  an  eager  voice. 

"I  was,"  Peggy  answered — "very." 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

The  K.C.'s  head  was  bent  forward  and  was  sway- 
ing shghtly  from  side  to  side,  as  the  head  of  a  snake 
sways  before  it  strikes.  He  was  quite  unconscious 
of  the  marked  hostihty  of  his  attitude,  but  the  game, 
the  big,  exciting  game  which  he  was  playing,  which 
he  was  paid  so  highly  to  play,  and  which  had  become 
the  chief  excitement  of  his  life,  had  caught  hold  of 
him  in  all  his  nerves. 

"Had  he  knocked?"  he  said. 

"I  didn't  hear  him,"  Peggy  replied,  "or  of  course 
T  should  not  have  let  him  come  in." 

"I  see,"  Sir  Robert  replied.  "You  were  hardly 
dressed  to  receive  gentlemen  visitors?" 

"Well,  hardly." 

"You  were  angry,  Mrs.  Admaston?" 

"I  zvas  angry,"  Peggy  replied. 

"Now !  how  did  you  show  your  anger  ?" 

"By  telling  him  to  go  back  to  his  room." 

"Did  he  go?" 

"No." 

And  now  laughter,  loud  and  almost  inextinguish- 
able, filled  the  court.  Every  one  was  enjoying  him- 
self or  herself  enormously.  There  was  a  sort  of 
atmosphere  of  French  farce  about  the  sombre  court. 
Every  one  had,  by  now,  forgotten  that  they  had 
lunched  and  dined  at  the  hospitable  tables  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Admaston.    They  were  there  for  a  show — 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

they  were  out  for  blood — it  was  a  bull-fight  to  these 
pleasant  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

Mr.  Henry  Passhe  was  obviously  enjoying  him- 
self. He  laughed  as  loudly  as  any  one,  until  the 
warning  "Hush !"  of  the  usher  suppressed  the  merri- 
ment. He  looked  towards  his  friend,  but  he  saw 
that  Colonel  Adams's  lean  brown  face  was  drawn 
and  wrinkled  up  with  pain.  Then  he  himself — for 
he  was  a  decent-minded  man  enough — felt  a  little 
ashamed  of  his  jocularity,  and  he  turned  once  more 
to  an  intent  watching  of  this  tragic  spectacle. 

"No  doubt,"  Sir  Robert  said,  "that  made  you 
more  angry — yes?" 

Mrs,  Admaston  did  not  answer,  but  Sir  Robert 
persisted. 

"Didn't  it  make  you  more  angry?"  he  said. 

Suddenly  Peggy  looked  up,  and  her  voice  rippled 
with  laughter — she  was  a  butterfly,  a  thing  of  sun- 
shine and  shadow,  but  shadow  never  distressed  her 
for  very  long. 

"I  never  remain  angry  very  long,"  she  said. 

Sir  Robert  took  no  notice  of  the  way  in  which 
she  answered.  His  big  voice  went  on,  tolling  quietly 
like  a  distant  bell. 

"But  you  were  angry?" 

"I  wanted  him  to  go,"  Peggy  replied  impatiently. 

"Quite  so,"  said  Sir  Robert.  "But  you  allowed 
him  to  stay?" 

152 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

She  heard  once  more  that  inexorable  persistence, 
that  bland,  passionless,  but  remorseless  voice. 

The  little  flicker  of  gaiety  and  of  respite  was  over. 
She  braced  herself  once  more  to  stand  up  against 
this  relentless  onslaught,  and  clutched  the  rail  of 
the  witness-box  before  her. 

"We  are  very  old  friends,  Sir  Robert,"  she  an- 
swered.   "I  saw  no  particular  harm  in  it." 

"If  you  saw  no  particular  harm  in  it,  why  did 
you  not  care  to  speak  to  your  husband  when  he 
rang  up?" 

"One  may  do  perfectly  harmless  things,"  she  re- 
plied, "and  yet  not  care  to  tell  every  one  about  them." 

"And  this  was  one  of  those  perfectly  harmless 
things  which  you  didn't  care  to  tell  every  one,  or 
even  your  husband,  about?" 

"There  was  no  harm  in  it,"  Peggy  replied,  and 
her  voice  rang  out  with  a  dreadful  sense  of  sup- 
pressed irritation  and  pain. 

"So  little  that  you  permitted  Mr.  Collingwood  to 
stay  with  you — for  quite  a  long  time?" 

"Not  very  long,"  she  answered. 

"Until  the  telephone  call  from  your  husband?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

Sir  Robert  Fyffe  began  to  seem  very  pleased  with 
himself.  There  was  no  bitterness  in  his  voice — 
only  an  extreme  politeness.  But  by  now  he  kept 
glancing  carefully  at  the  jury,  watching  them  with 

153 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

lightning  glances,  and  gathering  all  the  information 
he  possibly  could  from  the  expressions  on  their  faces 
— their  immobility  or  movements  of  interest. 

"Up  to  that  time,"  Sir  Robert  remarked — and  his 
question  had  really  the  note  of  a  casual  inquiry — 
"up  to  that  time  had  he  shown  any  sign  of  going?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

The  next  query  startled  the  whole  court,  not  so 
much  from  its  directness — though  that  was  patent 
enough, — but  by  reason  of  the  way  in  which  it  was 
rapped  out. 

It  was  said  in  a  hard,  threatening,  staccato  voice : 
"What  were  you  both  doing?" 

The  answer  was  rather  reflective  than  otherwise. 
It  showed  no  apprehension  of  the  intention  of  the 
examiner. 

"Sitting  on  the  sofa — he  was  smoking,  I  think," 
Peggy  said. 

"Should  I  be  right  in  saying  that  during  most 
of  this  time  he  was  making  passionate  love  to  you  ?" 

All  the  reporters  looked  up,  their  pencils  poised, 
their  eyes  avid  of  sensation. 

"He  was  very  fond  of  me,"  Mrs.  Admaston  re- 
plied. 

"Passionately  in  love  with  you?" 

There  was  a  perceptible  hesitation.  "I  think  he 
was  very  fond  of  me." 

Sir  Robert's  words  came  from  him  like  the  blows 
154 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

of  a  hammer  upon  a  nail :  "Have  you  any  doubt 
that  he  was  passionately  in  love  with  you?" 

"He  told  me  so." 

"I  put  it  to  you  that  you  knew  it,  and  had  known 
it  for  months  ?" 

It  was  an  odd  contrast  between  the  triumphant 
note  which  had  crept  into  the  great  barrister's  voice 
and  the  diminuendo  of  Peggy's. 

There  was  no  gaiety  now.  The  forces  were  joined. 
The  battle,  which  had  been  an  affair  of  skirmishes 
before,  was  now  in  full  cry. 

"I  only  knew  what  he  told  me."  The  voice  was 
quite  desperate  now. 

"And  when  did  he  first  tell  you?  The  night  you 
were  in  Paris  ?    Is  that  when  you  say  ?" 

"Yes,"  the  answer  came,  and  the  President  leant 
forward  to  be  sure  that  he  heard  the  admission 
aright. 

The  big,  round,  red  face  of  Sir  Robert  Fyffe  was 
now  redder  than  ever.  His  eyes  blinked  as  if  the 
lids  could  hardly  veil  the  silent  fire  which  peered 
out  from  them. 

"Do  you  swear  that?    Please  be  careful."  .  ,  . 

"I  think  that  was  the  first  time." 

"I  suggest  to  you,"  said  Sir  Robert,  turning  to- 
wards the  jury,  the  President,  and  then  to  Peggy — 
"I  suggest  to  you,  Mrs.  Admaston,  that  he  had  been 
making  passionate  love  to  you  for  months." 

155 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

There  was  an  intense  silence  in  the  court. 

The  members  of  the  jury  were  obviously  excited. 
Different  members  showed  it  in  different  ways. 
There  were  men  who  struggled  to  give  no  indication 
of  their  feelings,  and  made  effort  at  an  entire  lack 
of  expression.  Others  showed  evident  and  lively 
interest. 

"I  knew  for  some  months  that  he  was  very  fond 
of  me." 

"And  did  your  husband  know?"  echoed  out  into 
the  court. 

"I  suppose  so,"  was  the  faint  answer. 

"Do  you  suggest  that  your  husband  would  ever 
have  permitted  you  to  go  away,  even  in  the  company 
of  friends,  with  a  man  who  had  been  abusing  his 
friendship  by  making  passionate  love  to  his  wife?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  that.  No  sound  came 
from  the  witness-box — the  whole  court  waited  for 
the  response. 

Sir  Robert  was  leaning  forward  now,  his  head 
shaking  from  side  to  side,  his  blood-hound  face,  his 
extremely  vivid  eyes,  fixed  upon  Peggy's  face.  "Do 
you  really  ask  the  jury  to  believe  that?"  he  said. 

Still  Peggy  was  silent.  She  seemed  to  have 
drooped  into  something  like  a  faded  flower.  She 
said  nothing.     There  was  nothing  for  her  to  say. 

And  in  the  silence  the  calm,  judicial  voice  of  the 
President,  full  of  commiseration — without  prejudice 

156 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

one  way  or  the  other,  nevertheless, — made  its  de- 
mand. "You  must  answer,  Mrs.  Admaston,"  said 
the  judge. 

"I  don't  think  my  husband  knew  how  fond  of  me 
he  was,"  Peggy  said. 

"If  he  had  known,"  Sir  Robert  said,  very  gently 
now%  and  with  a  little  quiver  in  his  voice — "if  he 
had  known,  don't  you  think,  Mrs.  Admaston,  he 
w  ould  have  been  very  angry  to  know  how  you  were 
situated  in  Paris?" 

Sentence  after  sentence  was  wrung  from  her  by 
torture. 

"I  think  perhaps  he  might  not  have  liked  it,"  she 
said  in  a  fainting  voice. 

The  bully  came  out  in  Sir  Robert's  voice.  All 
along  the  line  he  was  being  tremendously  success- 
ful. .  .  . 

"Perhaps!  Would  atiy  man  like  it?  Do  you 
think,  madam,  that  you  were  treating  your  husband 
fairly  in  encouraging  this  very  charming  gentleman's 
attentions  ?" 

Very  faint,  very  slow,  very  hesitating,  and  ex- 
tremely weary,  "I  did  not  encourage  them,"  the 
answer  came. 

"We  shall  see.  Didn't  it  make  you  feel  very 
embarrassed  to  find  yourself  sitting  up  in  a  strange 
hotel  into  the  small  hours  of  the  morning,  with  this 
man  making  passionate  love  to  you?" 

157 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  court.  Once 
more  the  person  on  the  rack  had  nothing  to  say. 

"Or  had  this  liaison  gone  too  far  by  this  time  for 
you  to  feel  embarrassed?" 

Mr.  M'Arthur  jumped  up. 

His  face  blazed  with  simulated  fury.  "My  lord," 
he  barked,  "I  protest  against  these  insulting  sug- 
gestions." 

The  excited  voice  of  the  counsel  rather  failed  of 
its  effect  as  the  judge  looked  down  upon  him.  "Sir 
Robert  is  within  his  rights,  Mr.  M'Arthur,"  he  said. 
"He  would  not  ask  these  questions  without  good 
reason." 

Sir  Robert  Fyffe  saw  his  chance  at  once.  He 
glanced  at  the  jury;  he  made  a  little  deprecating 
motion  of  his  head  to  the  President.  "Too  good 
reason,  my  lord!  My  duty  is  not  a  pleasant  one. 
.  .  .  Was  this  the  first  time,  Mrs.  Admaston,  that 
you  had  received  Mr.  Collingwood  in  this  state  of 
undress — when  the  rest  of  the  household  was 
asleep  ?" 

Peggy  had  clasped  her  hands.  She  threw  them 
apart  with  a  wild  gesture  and  clutched  the  rail  of 
the  witness-box.  "My  lord!"  she  said,  "I  assure 
you  that  nothing  has  ever  t^ken  place  between  us." 

The  President  gazed  at  her  with  calm  compassion. 

He  had  heard  appeals  like  this  one  too  often.    He 

158 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

was  not  there  to  be  influenced  by  emotions,  or  to  be 
prejudiced  by  his  natural  kindness  of  heart 

He  was  there  to  judge. 

"You  must  answer  Sir  Robert,  Mrs.  Admaston," 
he  said  quietly. 

"We  used  to  sit  up  late  sometimes  at  Lord  EUer- 
dine's  and  talk,"  Peggy  admitted. 

There  were  murmurs  all  over  the  court.  Society 
was  interested. 

Sir  Robert  Fyffe  leant  forward  to  the  solicitor  in 
front  of  him,  said  something  in  an  undertone,  and 
then  looked  up. 

"Was  that  at  Lord  Ellerdine's  place  in  York- 
shire?" 

"Yes." 

"When  were  you  last  there?" 

"About  a  year  ago,"  Peggy  replied. 

"Indeed !    About  a  year  ago " 

"Hardly  a  year." 

"At  anyrate,  several  months  before  the  Paris  trip 
Mr.  Collingwood  was  sitting  up  in  your  room  into 
the  small  hours  of  the  morning  making  passionate 
love  to  you?" 

Mrs.  Admaston  said  nothing  at  all. 

"Is  not  that  so?"  the  insistent  voice  inquired. 

"There  was  no  harm.  Sir  Robert,"  was  the  hesi- 
tating answer. 

"No  harm !    Did  Lord  Ellerdine  know  ?" 
159 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"No." 

"Did  your  husband  know?" 

"No." 

And  now  into  the  voice  of  the  great  counsel  be- 
gan to  creep  a  note  of  contempt,  which  was  doubt- 
less perfectly  genuine.  He  had  met  the  woman  he 
was  cross-examining  in  society.  He  had  liked  her. 
But,  as  every  one  knew,  Sir  Robert's  own  domestic 
life  was  one  of  singular  happiness  and  accord. 

It  is  pretty  certain  that — ^having  known  Admas- 
ton  and  his  wife — he  was  becoming  genuinely  in- 
dignant at  what  he  thought  the  treachery  of  the  girl. 

"Was  this  another  of  those  perfectly  harmless 
things  which  you  didn't  care  to  tell  your  husband 
about  ?"  he  said. 

"I  saw  no  harm  in  it,"  Peggy  replied,  and  in 
answer  to  the  colder  note  in  Sir  Robert's  voice  her 
own  became  stubborn. 

"But  you  would  not  have  liked  him  to  know? 
Well!  You  have  now  admitted  that  Mr.  Colling- 
wood  had  been  making  passionate  love  to  you  for 
months  before  the  trip  to  Paris.  We  are  getting  at 
the  truth  gradually.  I  suppose  that  he  made  these 
declarations  of  love  several  times  at  Lord  Eller- 
dine's?" 

"I  think  he  spoke  to  me  on  two  or  three  occa- 
sions," Peggy  almost  murmured. 

i6o 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"And  was  this  really  the  first  time  he  declared 
his  love  for  you?" 

"Yes,  the  first  time." 

"You  are  sure?" 

"Quite  sure." 

"And  you  still  went  about  everywhere  with  him 
— ^but  you  were  careful  not  to  tell  your  husband  the 
truth?" 

"My  husband  trusted  me.  I  never  abused  his 
trust." 

As  Peggy  said  this,  the  foreman  of  the  jury,  a 
plump,  shortish,  clean-shaved  gentleman  who  in 
private  life  was  a  chemist,  looked  up  with  a  puzzled 
expression  upon  his  face. 

He  thought  he  detected  a  ring  of  real  sincerity 
in  the  witness's  voice  which  the  facts  did  not  seem 
to  justify. 

"Was  not  this  an  abuse  of  his  trust?"  Sir  Robert 
said — perhaps  more  gravely  than  he  had  spoken  yet. 

"Oh!  we  can't  all  be  perfect!  I  don't  deny  that 
I  flirted,"  Peggy  answered. 

Her  affectation  of  lightness  went  very  ill  with  the 
weighty,  measured  accusations  of  Sir  Robert  Fyffe. 

It  struck  a  jarring  note  in  the  court.  It  did  her 
harm. 

"You  do  not  deny  that  you  flirted,"  Sir  Robert 
said,  with  a  little  nod  of  his  head — "and  encouraged 

i6i 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

this  man,  this  very  charming  companion,  to  flirt  with 
you?" 

"And  if  I  did,"  she  replied,  still  defiant,  "my  hus- 
band trusted  me,  and  knew  that  there  was  nothing 
in  it." 

"Mrs.  Admaston,  if  that  is  true,  why  were  you 
afraid  to  talk  to  him  upon  the  night  of  the  23rd 
March,  and  why  did  you  connive  at  a  deliberate  lie 
on  the  following  day?" 

There  was  a  cold  and  deliberate  disgust  in  Sir 
Robert's  voice,  and  almost  every  person  there  gave 
a  little  sympathetic  shudder. 

But  Peggy,  brave  to  the  last,  still  fought  on.  "I 
was  a  fool,"  she  said,  with  a  little  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders, as  if  the  question  was  of  no  great  moment. 
"I  was  a  fool.  The  others  thought  the  thing  much 
worse  than  it  was,  and  that  frightened  me.  I  have 
told  you  already  that  I  loathed  myself  for  lying  as 
I  did." 

Sir  Robert  knitted  his  brows  for  a  moment,  and 
then  decided  on  his  course  of  action. 

That  brilliant  brain  was  never  at  a  loss.  Again, 
after  a  second's  hesitation,  the  deadly  thrust  was 
delivered.  It  was  delivered  with  such  apparent 
suavity  and  innocence,  with  such  a  relaxation  of  the 
hard,  accusing  note,  that  the  girl  in  the  witness- 
box  was  utterly  deceived. 

^'You  mean,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "that  though  you 
162 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

did  not  tell  your  husband  everything  about  your 
harmless  flirtations — your  peccadilloes — you  never 
before  deliberately  lied  to  shield  yourself?" 

''Yes,"  Peggy  replied  eagerly;  **that  is  what  I 
mean." 

"Does  it  not  strike  you,  Mrs.  Admaston,  that 
any  one  who  knew  of  your  previous  adventures  with 
Mr.  Collingwood,  the  pleasure  you  obviously  find  in 
his  society,  and  the  methods  you  have  adopted  to 
blind  your  husband  to  the  progress  of  this  innocent 
friendship,  would  have  good  ground  for  supposing 
that  the  accident  which  brought  about  the  last  of  this 
series  of  innocent  and  pleasant  reunions  was  in 
reality  not  accident,  but  deliberate  design  ?" 

"I  see  what  you  mean,"  she  answered ;  "but  what- 
ever any  one  thought,  it  zvas  an  accident !" 

"An  accident!  Oh,  just  consider  this  chapter  of 
accidents!  By  accident,  you  and  Mr.  Collingwood 
got  on  to  the  wrong  train  at  Boulogne ;  by  accident, 
although  the  luggage  of  the  whole  party  was  to- 
gether at  Charing  Cross  Station  and  Mr.  Colling- 
wood was  instructed  to  register  it  all  through  to 
St.  Moritz,  your  luggage  and  Mr.  Collingwood's 
was  not  registered — an  accident  which  enabled  you 
to  take  it  on  with  you  upon  the  Paris  train,  which 
you  only  entered  by  accident.  By  accident,  Mr.  Col- 
lingwood seems  to  have  taken  for  himself  and  a 
lady  rponis  at  an  h9t?l  i"  Paris  which,  but  for  the 

163 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

accident  which  took  you  and  him  to  Paris,  could 
have  been  of  no  possible  use  to  him.  Do  you  still 
ask  the  jury  to  believe  that  your  visit  to  Paris  was 
an  accident?" 

Sir  Robert  had  a  little  over-emphasised  himself 
— that  is,  as  far  as  the  witness  was  concerned, — 
though  his  accentuated  speech  had  its  effect  upon  the 
jury.  Peggy  herself  recognised  artifice.  When 
there  had  been  a  real  note  of  sincerity  in  the  counsel's 
voice  it  had  frightened  her  far  more  than  any  rhet- 
oric could. 

"Certainly  I  do,"  she  answered  with  spirit. 

The  barrister  recognised  in  a  moment  that,  while 
he  had  made  an  effect  upon  the  court,  he  had  at  the 
same  time  given  new  courage  to  the  witness.  He 
was,  as  all  great  counsel  are,  a  psychologist  of  the 
first  order.  He  responded  instantly,  and  in  this  duel 
of  two  minds — his  and  Mrs.  Admaston's — his  keener 
and  more  trained  intelligence  realised  exactly  what 
was  passing  in  her  thoughts. 

"I  suggest  to  you,  Mrs.  Admaston,"  he  said  very 
briskly,  "that  you  and  Mr.  Collingwood  had  planned 
this  trip  to  Paris — that  he  took  the  rooms  with  your 
knowledge — that  you  both  missed  the  train  deliber- 
ately, and  reached  Paris  in  accordance  with  your 
preconceived  design?" 

"And  I  tell  you,"  Peggy  replied,  "that  all  these 
suggestions  are  absolutely  false." 

164 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Absolutely  false  ?^ 

Her  voice  rang  out  into  the  court  shrill  with  the 
long  torture  of  her  examination,  but  passionate 
with  her  own  certainty  of  her  innocence.  "There's 
not  a  rag  of  truth  in  any  of  than.  You  may  think 
you  can  make  black  white,  and  white  black,  you 
may  hire  spies,  tamper  with  railway  servants  and 
waiters  ..." 

An  instant  reproof  came  from  the  jadge — ^two 
words:  "Mrs.  Admaston!"  he  said. 

She  looked  up,  but  hardly  heard  him. 

**.  .  .  And  do  all  the  rest  of  the  degrading  work 
which  seems  inseparable  from  this  court.'* 

"Mrs.  Admaston,"  the  President  said  again,  "you 
must  not  speak  like  that." 

All  men,  even  judges,  are  influenced  by  circum- 
stance. It  is  probable  that  the  President  would  have 
been  far  more  severe  at  such  an  outburst  as  this,  if 
Mrs.  Admaston  had  not  been  a  millionairess  in 
her  own  right  and  the  wife  of  a  prominent  Cabinet 
Minister.  And  it  is  sure  also  that,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances as  these,  an  ordinary  woman,  without 
the  unconscious  consciousness  of  her  financial  and 
social  position,  would  not  have  dared  to  do  as  Peggy 
did. 

Despite  the  President's  admonition,  a  torrent  of 
half  hysterical,  wholly  indignant  words  poured  from 
the  witness-box. 

165 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"And  what  right  have  they  to  treat  me  Hke  this  ?" 
Peggy  cried.  "Am  I  to  be  treated  as  guilty,  merely 
because  I  have  foolishly  courted  temptation  ?  I  don't 
know  what  I  have  said,  I  don't  know  what  I  shall 
say  before  this  torture  is  completed;  but  I  am  sen- 
siHe  enough  to  know  that  I  have  no  chance  in  all 
this  farrago  of  horrible  insinuation  which  twists 
every  little  piece  of  harmless  and  girlish  folly  into 
some  vicious  and  debasing  form.  I  cannot  keep  quiet 
imder  it  I  tell  you  it  is  all — ^all — lies — ^nothing  but 
liesr 

''Now,  Mrs.  Admaston,"  Sir  Robert  said,  ap- 
parently unmoved  by  this  tirade,  "I  must  ask  you 
to  give  me  your  very  close  attention." 

**You  must  try  to  be  more  composed,"  the  Presi- 
dent said  kindly  to  Peggy,  "if  you  wish  to  do  your- 
self justice." 

Peggy's  white,  set  face  looked  straight  out  before 
her.  She  summoned  up  all  her  courage  to  bear  the 
remainder  of  her  torture, 

"You  still  persist,"  said  Sir  Robert,  "in  saying 
that  your  trip  to  Paris  resulted  from  an  accident?" 

"Emphatically  I  do,"  she  answered. 

Sir  Robert  looked  towards  the  judge. 

"Has  your  lordship  got  that  document,"  he  said, 
"which  Mr.  Admaston  identified  when  he  was  in  the 
witness-box  ?" 

The  President  nodded.     "That  was  the  an<xiy- 
i66 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

mous  letter  received  by  Miss  Admaston — ^Mr.  Ad- 
maston's  aunt, — was  it  not,  and  produced  by  her  on 
subpoena  yesterday?  Yes.  I  have  it  here  in  the 
envelope." 

"Perhaps  your  lordship  will  allow  the  witness  to 
look  at  the  envelope." 

Mr.  M'Arthur  jumped  up.  "My  lord,"  he  said, 
"I  submit  again  that  nothing  can  make  this  letter 
evidence." 

"And  you  are  quite  right,  Mr.  M'Arthur,"  the 
judge  answered.  "But  at  present  Sir  Robert  is 
not  suggesting  that  it  is  evidence — Usher,"  he  con- 
tinued, "please  hand  this  to  the  witness." 

"Look  at  that  envelope,"  Sir  Robert  continued. 
"You  will  see  that  it  is  dated  March  23rd,  and  the 
postmark  shows  that  it  was  collected  at  10.30  a.m. 
Now,  you  persist  in  saying  that  at  the  time  that 
letter  was  posted  nothing  was  further  from  your 
mind  than  that  you  would  be  staying  the  night  in 
Paris." 

"I  have  already  said  so,"  Peggy  answered. 

"And  do  you  say  so  still?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  she  answered  tartly. 

"We  shall  see,"  Sir  Robert  Fyffe  rapped  out. 
"The  letter  is  addressed  to  Miss  Admaston — is  it 
not?  And  Mr.  Admaston  has  sworn  that  she  brought 
it  to  him  to  the  House  of  Commons  just  after  three 

167 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

o'clock  on  the  same  day.    Is  Miss  Admaston  a  friend 
of  yours  ?" 

"I  don't  think  she  altogether  approves  of  me," 
Peggy  answered. 

"You  know  that  Mr.  Admaston  has  sworn  that  it 
was  the  information  contained  in  that  letter  which 
determined  him  to  have  you  watched  in  Boulogne 
and  in  Paris?" 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"And  at  the  time  that  letter  was  written,  no  one 
could  possibly  have  known  that  you  were  going  to 
spend  the  night  in  Paris  or  miss  the  train  at 
Boulogne?" 

"Of  course  they  couldn't." 

"May  I  take  it,  therefore,"  Sir  Robert  continued, 
"that  you  believed  your  husband  when  he  says  that 
that  letter  was  in  his  hands  soon  after  three  o'clock 
— long  before  you  even  reach  Folkestone  ?" 

"I  believe  my  husband  implicitly,"  Peggy  said, 
and  there  was  a  little  quaver  in  her  voice. 

"Do  you  recognise  the  handwriting?"  Sir  Robert 
asked. 

"I  have  never  seen  it  before,"  she  answered. 

The  judge  looked  intently  at  the  K.C.  "I  don't 
want  to  interrupt  you,  Sir  Robert,"  he  said;  "but 
do  you  know  whose  handwriting  it  is?" 

"No,  my  lord,"  Sir  Robert  replied.  "I  am  really 
asking  for  information." 

i68 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"It  is  very  curious,"  said  the  judge. 

"It  is,  my  lord,"  said  Sir  Robert.  "My  learned 
friend,  Mr.  Carteret,  who  is  watching  the  case  on 
behalf  of  Miss  Admaston,  informs  me  that  he  has 
had  it  submitted  to  every  well-known  handwriting 
expert  in  the  United  Kingdom,  and  indeed  in 
Europe." 

"And  compared  with  the  writing  of  every  person 
however  remotely  connected  with  the  parties  con- 
cerned in  this  case?" 

"He  has  even  had  it  compared  with  Mrs.  Ad- 
maston's,  my  lord." 

"And  no  doubt  with  Mr.  Collingwood's  ?"  the 
judge  continued. 

"Yes,"  Sir  Robert  said,  "and  with  Mr.  Colling- 
wood's too,  my  lord — though,  I  regret  to  say,  with 
no  result." 

He  turned  from  the  judge  to  Peggy.  "And  can't 
you  help  us,  Mrs.  Admaston?"  he  concluded. 

"No,  not  from  the  envelope,"  Peggy  answered. 

"It  is  a  most  peculiar  handwriting,"  the  judge 
observed,  leaning  back  in  his  seat. 

Sir  Robert  continued  his  cross-examination. 
"Now,  Mrs.  Admaston,"  he  said,  "remember  that 
that  letter  was  in  the  hands  of  your  husband  just 
after  three  o'clock  on  23rd  March.  Now,  will  you 
be  so  good  as  to  read  it?" 

"Out  loud?" 

169 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Oh  no.     Read  it  to  yourself." 

There  was  dead  silence  in  the  court  as  with 
trembling  hands  the  girl  took  the  letter  from  the 
envelope  and  began  to  read  it.  All  the  spectators, 
those  engaged  in  the  case,  and  several  members  of 
the  jury  knew  that  the  dramatic  moment  of  all  had 
arrived.  There  had  been  many  dramatic  moments, 
but  this  was  to  be  the  culminating  one. 

The  excitement  was  intense,  and,  when  Peggy 
suddenly  gave  a  little  cry,  there  was  a  low  murmur 
of  sound.  She  cried  out  loudly,  sharply,  as  if  in 
pain,  while  the  judge  and  jury  regarded  her  intently. 
Then  she  bent  forward  over  the  letter  again  and 
appeared  to  re-read  it. 

Suddenly  she  lifted  her  head  and  turned  desper- 
ately to  the  President.  "Oh!  my  lord,  this  is  in- 
famous!" she  cried. 

Without  any  hesitation  at  all  Sir  Robert  made 
his  point. 

"Do  you  still  persist,  Mrs.  Admaston,  in  your 
statement  that  your  trip  to  Paris  was  the  result  of 
an  accident?" 

Peggy  was  desperate.  "My  lord — this  letter — it 
is  a  trap — it  must  be — a  trap "  she  wailed. 

"Come,  Mrs,  Admaston,"  Sir  Robert  said  very 
sternly;  "can  you  still  keep  up  this  farce,  this  hypo- 
critical farce?" 

Suddenly  CoUingwood  jumped  up  from  his  place. 
170 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"My  lord,  I  protest!"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which 
trembled  with  indignation. 

The  judge  gave  him  a  keen  look  as  he  subsided, 
muttering  to  himself. 

"You  will  have  an  opportunity  to-morrow,"  the 
judge  said,  "of  showing  your  sympathy." 

"Now,  madam,  having  read  that  letter "    Sir 

Robert  resumed. 

The  foreman  of  the  jury  rose.  "My  lord,"  he 
said,  "the  jury  would  like  to  see  that  letter." 

"What  do  you  say,  Mr.  M 'Arthur  and  Mr.  Men- 
zies?"  asked  the  judge. 

"I  can  see  no  purpose  in  keeping  it  out  any 
longer,  my  lord,"  Mr.  M' Arthur  answered,  while 
Mr.  Menzies  said  that  any  mischief  which  it  might 
do  had  been  done  already. 

The  President  seemed  to  approve.  "I  think  you 
are  right,"  he  said.    "Usher,  give  me  the  letter." 

The  letter  was  handed  up  again  to  the  bench,  and, 
adjusting  his  pince-nez,  the  judge  proceeded  to 
read  it. 

"Listen,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "^nd  I  will  read  it 

to  you.     The  importance  of  this  letter,  gentlemen, 

which,  as  you  have  seen,  has  so  terribly  upset  this 

poor  lady,   is  that  it  was  clearly  written  before 

j  10.30  on  the  morning  of  the  23rd  March,  and  was 

(in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Admaston  long  before  Mrs. 

I  Admaston  and  her  friends  reached  Folkestone — let 

171 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

alone  Boulogne.  The  letter  is  dated  March  23rd, 
and  it  is  unsigned.  Now,  gentlemen,  an  anonymous 
letter  is  open  to  grave  suspicion,  but  in  the  peculiar 
circumstances  of  this  case  the  fact  of  its  being  anony- 
mous makes  no  difference.  If  any  one,  other  than 
the  respondent  and  co-respondent,  knew  that  they 
were  going  to  stay  in  Paris  on  the  night  of  the  23rd, 
and  knew  that  before  they  started,  it  is  difficult  to 
exaggerate  the  importance  of  the  fact.  I  will  now 
read  the  letter : — 

"  'Mrs.  Admaston  will  be  staying  at  Paris 
to-night  alone  with  Mr.  Collingwood.  They 
have  arranged  to  get  separated  from  Lord 
Ellerdine  and  Lady  Attwill  at  Boulogne  and 
to  stay  the  night  together  at  the  Hotel  des 
Tuileries.  If  Mr.  Admaston  does  not  beheve 
this,  let  him  telephone  the  hotel  to-night.' 

Mr.  Carteret,"  the  judge  concluded,  "were  any  other 
letters  in  this  strange  handwriting  received  by  Miss 
Admaston?" 

"One  other,  my  lord,  three  days  ago,"  said  Mr. 
Carteret. 

"I  should  like  to  see  it,"  said  the  President. 
^      The  second  letter  was  handed  up  to  him,  and 
he  read  it  through  carefully. 

"It  is  all  very  mysterious,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
172 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

head.     "I  think,   gentlemen,  that  you  had  better 
hear  it.    It  is  as  follows : — 

"  'Please  destroy  the  other  letter  and  this, 
and  save  an  old  servant  who  honours  the  family 
from  the  anger  of  Mrs.  Admaston.' " 

The  judge  paused,  carefully  scrutinising  the  letter ; 
then  he  took  up  an  ivory  reading-glass  and  looked  at 
the  letter  through  the  magnifying  lens. 

"Am  I  right,  Mr.  Carteret,"  he  said,  "in  my  view 
that  this  letter  has  been  blotted  and  not  allowed  to 
dry?" 

Mr.  Carteret  leant  over  and  had  a  hurried  con- 
versation with  his  handwriting  expert.  "I  am  in- 
structed that  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  that,  my  lord," 
he  said,  looking  up. 

"I  should  much  like  to  see  that  blotting-paper," 
the  President  remarked. 

"Blotting-paper!"  said  Sir  Robert  Fyflfe.  "So 
should  we  all,  my  lord."  Then  he  rose  to  his  feet. 
"Now,  Mrs.  Admaston,  having  read  this  letter,  do 
you  still  dare  to  repeat  that  until  you  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  miss  the  train  at  Boulogne  you  had  no 
intention  of  spending  the  night  in  Paris  with  Mr. 
Collingwood  ?" 

Peggy  did  not  answer. 

She  stared  at  the  letter  upon  the  judge's  desk  as 
if  fascinated  by  it. 

173 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"My  lord  and  the  jury  are  waiting  for  an  answer," 
Sir  Robert  repeated.     "Come,  madam." 

"And  what  answer  can  I  give?"  Ihe  tortured  girl 
said  faintly. 

Sir  Robert  was  showing  her  no  mercy  now.  "The 
truth,  madam,  if  you  can,"  he  said. 

"The  truth !"  she  answered.  "What  is  the  truth 
to  you?  It's  not  the  truth  you  want.  It's  me — my 
very  soul — that's  what  you  want !  Not  to  wring  the 
truth  out  of  me,  but  just  so  much  of  it  as  will  serve 
your  ends!" 

"Mrs.  Admaston,"  the  President  said  compassion- 
ately, but  with  emphasis,  "these  outbursts  do  not 
assist  your  case." 

"My  case!"  Peggy  cried  helplessly.  "My  lord, 
who  will  believe  me  in  the  face  of  this  lying  letter? 
It  is  a  trap — a  trap,  I  say !  I  have  been  hunted  and 
hounded  into  it.  I  am  not  surprised  now  that  in- 
nocent women  in  hundreds  let  their  cases  go  by  de- 
fault rather  than  face  the  humiliation  and  torture 
of  this  awful  place." 

"Madam,  I  must  insist  upon  an  answer,"  Sir  Rob- 
ert said  relentlessly. 

"What  am  I  to  answer?"  she  cried  again,  wring- 
ing her  hands  with  a  terribly  piteous  gesture. 

"If  you  ask  me,  Mrs.  Admaston,  let  me  advise 
you  to  answer  the  truth." 

"The  truth?" 

174 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Yes,  the  truth — that  this  trip  to  Paris  was  all 
arranged  between  you  and  your  lover" — ^his  voice 
sank  and  became  deeply  impressive;  "that  at  the 
very  moment  in  which  your  husband  was  trying  to 
reach  you  upon  the  telephone  you  were  in  that  lover's 
arms  ?" 

"It  is  a  lie!"  she  said  despairingly. 

"The  telephone  bell  rang  several  times  before  it 
was  answered,  did  it  not?" 

"Yes,  but " 

Sir  Robert  cut  her  short.  "I  suggest  to  you  that 
even  then  you  were  in  your  lover's  arms?"  he  said 
with  bitter  scorn, 

"It  is  a  lie !"  Peggy  answered  once  more. 

"Then,  Mrs.  Admaston,  and  for  the  last  time,  I 
press  for  an  answer.  Do  you  still  insist  that  you 
and  your  lover " 

She  didn't  allow  him  to  finish  his  sentence.  Des- 
perate as  she  was,  the  hot  words  poured  from  her 
in  a  cataract  of  sound. 

"How  dare  you  suggest  that  he  is  my  lover !"  she 
cried.  "I  tell  you  that  I  have  never  loved  him! — 
never — never — never — never!  If  I  had  loved  him 
do  you  think  that  I  would  be  here  now  ?  For  months 
and  months  he  has  begged  and  entreated  me  to  let 
my  husband  divorce  me  so  that  I  could  marry  him. 
If  I  had  loved  him,  do  you  think  that  I  would  have 
faced  this  horrible  place?    I  have  never  loved  him. 

175 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

I  have  been  foolish — I  have  played  with  fire — I  have 
loved  his  admiration.  I  did  not  know  that  the  law 
— man's  law — made  no  difference  between  the  op- 
portunity to  do  wrong  and  the  wrong  itself.  I  know 
now.  Some  day  men  who  know  women  will  make 
other  laws — some  of  us  must  have  our  lives  broken 
first.  In  the  face  of  that  letter  and  the  evidence, 
no  man  would  ever  believe  me,  whatever  I  say;  but 
I  swear  before  God  that  it  was  all  an  accident — our 
being  in  Paris.  I  swear  that  I  meant  no  harm  by 
all  my  little  lies.  I  swear  I  have  done  nothing  wrong 
— nothing;  but  no  one  will  believe  me  now — no  one." 
Her  voice  sank  and  dropped,  and  she  ended  her  out- 
burst with  a  deep  moan  of  pain. 

"I  think  we  will  adjourn  now,"  said  the  President, 
and  there  was  pain  in  his  voice  also. 

He  gathered  up  the  papers  before  him  on  his  desk 
and  rose.    The  court  rose  also. 

There  was  an  immediate  hum  and  bustle,  which 
broke  out  into  the  loud  murmurs  of  subdued  con- 
versation as  the  judge  left  his  seat  and  disappeared 
through  the  door  at  the  back. 

Peggy  Admaston,  wringing  her  hands,  her  face 
a  white  wedge  of  anguish,  the  pallor  dreadfully  ac- 
centuated by  the  burnished  masses  of  her  dark  hair, 
almost  stumbled  down  the  steps  of  the  witness-box. 
Mr.  M'Arthur  and  her  solicitor — a  little  confused 
knot  of  people,  indeed — hastened  up  to  her,  and  with 

176 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

a  grim  face  Sir  Robert  Fyffe,  not  looking  in  the  girl's 
direction,  arranged  his  papers  and  spoke  earnestly 
to  his  junior. 

The  scene  was  one  of  indescribable  excitement. 

It  was  as  though  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen,  and 
people  looked  at  each  other  with  pale,  questioning 
faces. 

The  hum  died  down  for  an  instant,  as  the  weeping 
woman  was  led  gently  from  the  court. 

Then  it  recommenced  louder  than  ever,  mingled 
with  the  shuffling  of  innumerable  feet. 


177 


CHAPTER  VII 

Directly  the  President  had  risen.  Society 
streamed  out  into  the  great  hall  of  the  Law  Courts. 

Innumerable  motor  broughams  and  private  car- 
riages were  waiting  in  Fleet  Street,  and  despite  the 
dullness  of  the  afternoon  the  eager  photographers 
of  the  illustrated  papers  were  waiting  to  get  snap- 
shots of  celebrated  people  as  they  passed  from  the 
sordid  theatre  of  Court  No.  II.  en  route  for  after- 
noon tea  and  scandal. 

Henry  Passhe  had  an  engagement,  and,  saying 
good-bye  to  Colonel  Adams,  hurried  away.  The 
other  remained  in  the  big  central  hall  for  a  moment 
or  two  looking  round  to  see  if  he  could  find  an 
acquaintance. 

To  him,  as  he  stood  there,  came  Lord  Ellerdine 
and  struck  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Hullo,  Adams !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  was 
very  subdued.  "Thought  I  saw  you  in  court.  Been 
watching  this  dreadful  business?" 

Colonel  Adams  nodded.  "Yes,  Ellerdine,"  he 
said.  "Henry  Passhe  brought  me.  He  much  wanted 
to  come.    I  hesitated  whether  I  should  go  or  not, 

178 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

and  now  I  am  very  sorry  I  did.  To  see  a  charming 
little  woman  like  Mrs.  Admaston  tortured— that 
isn't  very  pleasant." 

The  other  thurst  his  arm  into  the  colonel's. 
"Damned  dreadful,  isn't  it  ?"  he  said  in  an  agitated 
voice.  "Well,  look  here,  let's  get  out  of  this.  What 
are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  have  nothing  particular  to  do  at  present;  but 
why  do  you  ask,  Ellerdine?" 

"Look  here,"  Lord  Ellerdine  replied — "we  can't 
talk  here,  but  I  have  got  an  idea."  His  voice 
glowed  with  pride  as  he  said  it.  "I  haven't  men- 
tioned it  to  a  soul,  and  I  don't  want  to  mention  it 
to  any  one  concerned  in  the  case.  Upon  my  soul, 
Adams,  it  is  a  godsend  to  have  met  you.  I  want  to 
hear  what  you  think.    Are  you  game  to  listen?" 

Adams  nodded.  He  liked  Lord  Ellerdine,  as 
everybody  did,  though  he  had  no  higher  opinion  of 
that  gentleman's  intelligence  than  the  rest  of  the 
world. 

"Quite  at  your  service,  Ellerdine,"  he  answered; 
"and  if  your  idea  is  one  that  may  possibly  help 
Mrs.  Admaston,  I  shall  be  more  pleased  still." 

"Of  course  it  is,"  Lord  Ellerdine  answered. 
"Well,  let's  go  and  talk  it  over.  It  is  impossible  in 
this  infernal  rush," 

"All  right,"  Colonel  Adams  replied.     "Come  to 
179 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

the  Cocoa  Tree,  or,  if  you  like,  I  will  come  with  you 
to  White's." 

Lord  Ellerdine  shook  his  head.  "We  will  have 
some  tea,"  he  said.  "But  I  don't  want  to  go  west 
now  until  I  have  talked  this  idea  of  mine  over  with 
you.  If  you  agree  that  there  is  anything  in  it,  then 
we  should  only  have  to  come  back  to  this  part  of 
the  world  again.  Can't  we  get  a  cup  of  tea  some- 
where about  here?" 

By  this  time  the  two  men  had  walked  outside  the 
Law  Courts  and  were  standing  among  the  motley 
crowd  which  was  pouring  out  of  the  great  central 
doorway  and  also  the  side  approaches  to  the  public 
galleries  and  courts. 

They  looked  around  them.  Both  of  them  were 
absolutely  at  sea  in  this  part  of  London. 

"Tell  you  what,"  Ellerdine  said  suddenly:  "I 
have  got  another  idea.  Let's  go  to  an  A.B.C. — 
what?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  Adams  replied. 

"Why,"  Lord  Ellerdine  answered,  "the  A.B.C. 
you  know,  where  clerks  and  people  have  tea.  There 
are  always  lots  of  them  in  every  street,  I  believe." 

They  turned  eastwards  and  began  to  walk  slowly 
down  Fleet  Street. 

"Ellerdine,"  Colonel  Adams  exclaimed  bitterly, 
"look  at  this!" 

i8o 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

The  pavements  were  lined  with  news-venders  dis- 
playing great  contents  bills  of  the  evening  papers : 

"Mrs.  Admaston  on  the  Rack";  "Society 
Lady's  Admissions";  and  in  a  violently  Radical 
sheet,  "Society  Butterfly  Examined." 

Lord  Ellerdine  saw  the  placards  also.  "Sicken- 
ing, isn't  it?"  he  said,  with  a  real  note  of  pain  in 
his  voice.  "Poor  little  Peggy !  Poor  little  girl !  I 
would  have  done  anything  to  stop  it,  Adams;  and 
in  half  an  hour — these  newspaper  fellows  are  so 
damned  clever — in  half  an  hour  there'll  be  all  about 
the  last  scene,  the  letter  and  all  that.  By  the  time 
we  get  back  to  town" — Lord  Ellerdine  didn't  im- 
agine that  he  was  really  in  London  at  the  moment, — 
"by  the  time  we  get  back  to  town  it  will  be  in  all 
the  clubs  just  as  it  has  come  over  the  tape  machines 
for  the  last  two  hours,  only  with  further  details — 
how  Peggy  looked  and  all  that.    Sickening !" 

Colonel  Adams  agreed.  He  did  not  in  the  least 
know  what  his  rather  fatuous  friend  was  about  to 
propose  or  had  in  his  mind ;  but  he  was,  at  anyrate, 
glad  of  his  companionship,  weary  and  unhappy  as 
he  felt  at  the  terrible  spectacle  which  he  had  found 
almost  impossible  to  endure. 

"I  could  kill  that  man  Robert  Fyffe,"  he  said 
savagely  as  they  walked  slowly  eastwards.  "Great, 
big,  damned  bully,  I  call  him." 

"Well,   I   know   him,"   Ellerdine   replied;   "and 
i8i 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

really,  Adams,  he  is  quite  a  decent  chap  in  private 
life.  It  is  his  job,  you  know,  and  he  has  got  to  do 
it  as  well  as  he  can.  I  believe  he  gets  about  a 
hundred  a  day  or  more  for  a  case  like  this." 

"Filthy  cruelty,  I  call  it,"  Adams  answered, 
"whether  he  is  a  decent  chap  or  not.  To  be  paid — 
to  earn  your  living,  by  Gad! — to  torture  men  and 
women  like  that  seems  to  me  a  low  way  of  earning 
your  bread-and-butter." 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  the  other  replied.  "At  the  same 
time,  Adams,  it  might  be  said  of  your  job  too.  That 
Afghan  business,  when  there  was  no  quarter,  that 
you  were  in :  there  were  a  whole  lot  of  sentimental- 
ists in  the  Radical  press  that  howled  and  held  you 
up  to  execration  as  a  sort  of  Pontius  Pilate  with  a 
flavour  of  Nero,  at  home.  You  were  out  there  do- 
ing the  work.  I  was  home  and  read  the  papers — 
you  didn't.    Bally  monster,  they  called  you — what  ?" 

"Damn  all  newspaper  writers!"  the  old  white- 
haired  colonel  growled.  "But  I  say,  Ellerdine,  what 
about  this  cup  of  tea?" 

Lord  Ellerdine  looked  round  anxiously,  and  then 
his  face  lighted  up.  "Here's  an  A.B.C.,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  some  adjacent  windows  covered  with 
letters  in  white  enamel  and  displaying  buns  and 
pastry. 

"How  will  this  do,  old  chap  ?" 
182 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

The  soldier  nodded,  and  together  the  two  men 
entered  the  shop. 

"What  do  we  do  now?"  Ellerdine  said,  looking 
round  him  with  some  perplexity.  "By  Jove !  there's 
a  pretty  girl." 

One  of  the  waitresses,  realising  suddenly  that  the 
two  gentlemen  who  had  just  entered  were  quite  un- 
accustomed to  the  ways  of  the  establishment,  and 
having  one  of  her  taHes  vacant,  hurried  up  to  them. 

"Tea?"  she  said  engagingly. 

"That's  just  it,  my  dear,"  said  Lord  Ellerdine, 
with  a  pleased  smile.  "Now,  you  show  us  all  the 
ropes,  will  you?" 

"Come  this  way,"  said  the  pretty  waitress,  with 
an  engaging  little  toss  of  her  head  and  a  conscious- 
ness of  something  pleasantly  unusual.  She  led  them 
to  a  little  round-topped  marble  table  where  two  cheap 
cane  chairs  were  waiting,  upon  which  Lord  Eller- 
dine and  Colonel  Adams  seated  themselves. 

"Tea,  I  think  you  said?"  said  the  waitress  to 
Lord  Ellerdine,  whom  she  obviously  found  the  most 
sympathetic  of  the  pair. 

The  ex-diplomatist  nodded.  "But  we  must  have 
something  to  eat — what?  Well,  my  dear,  we  will 
leave  it  to  you.    Carte  blanche — what?" 

"Now  look  here,  Adams,"  Lord  Ellerdine  said, 
"what  I  want  to  tell  you  is  this.  Of  course,  I  am 
tremendously  interested  in  this  case.     I  am  mixed 

183 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

up  in  it  considerably,  and  also  I  am  a  great  friend 
of  Peggy's — one  of  her  oldest  friends.  You  know 
her  too,  though  not  as  well  as  I  do,  and  you  know 
what  a  charming  little  woman  she  is.  I  would  do 
anything  to  save  her  if  I  could,  and  I  have  got  an 
idea!  Now,  some  time  ago,"  Lord  Ellerdine  con- 
tinued, "a  silly  Johnny — a  secretary  it  was — forged 
my  name.  It  was  ©n  a  cheque.  There  was  con- 
siderable difficulty  in  finding  out  who  was  the  actual 
culprit,  as  owing  to  the  circumstances  there  were 
several  people  who  might  have  done  it.  My  so- 
licitors told  me  that  the  only  way  to  really  find  out 
was  to  go  to  a  handwriting  expert.  I  didn't  know 
what  that  was  until  they  explained,  but  it  seems 
there  are  Johnnies  who  make  a  regular  profession 
of  studying  people's  writing." 

"Are  there,  by  Jove!"  said  the  colonel,  much  in- 
terested. 

**Yes;  and  just  at  that  time — it  was  some  two 
years  ago — the  king  and  skipper  of  the  whole  lot 
had  come  over  from  America  and  established  a 
branch  in  London.  His  name  is  William  Q. 
Devereux." 

"Is  it,  by  Jove !"  said  the  colonel  again. 

Ellerdine  nodded.  "Odd,"  he  said,  "but  true, 
parole  d'honneur.  He  started  an  office  in  London 
to  help  all  the  commercial  Johnnies  in  the  city,  and 
so  I  went  to  him  with  my  papers ;  and  I  am  damned 

184 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

if  the  chap  didn't  find  out  who  forged  my  name  in 
about  an  hour,  and  we  had  him  nailed  that  same 
evening.     Cost  me  a  tenner,  that*s  all." 

Colonel  Adams  nodded,  looking  with  some  trepi- 
dation at  the  pile  of  rather  too  luscious-looking 
pastry  which  had  by  now  been  set  upon  the  table. 

"I  don't  think  I  will  venture,"  he  said  to  him- 
self; and  then  to  Ellerdine,  "Well,  go  on,  EUer- 
dine." 

"Now,  in  ray  pocket,"  Lord  Ellerdine  continued, 
"I  have  got  exact  photographs  and  tracings  of  the 
letters  which  have  made  such  a  fuss  this  afternoon. 
My  idea,  Adams,  is  that  you  and  I — if  you  have 
time,  that  is — should  go  down  into  the  City  and  see 
this  expert  chap  and  see  if  he  can  throw  some  light 
on  the  situation.  They  have  tried  all  the  experts 
in  London  on  Peggy's  case,  but  they  don't  seem  to 
know  about  my  American  friend.  I  believe  in  him. 
He  is  one  of  the  most  astute  people  going.  What  do 
you  say  to  trying  him — for  poor  little  Peggy's  sake?" 

"Excellent  idea,  by  Jove!"  the  other  answered. 
"You've  got  his  address,  of  course?" 

"Oh  yes,"  Lord  Ellerdine  replied ;  "it's  in  Coleman 
Street,  E.C.  Now,  I  wonder  if  you  would  mind 
going  down  with  me  and  seeing  what  he  has  got  to 

say?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Colonel  Adams  answered.  "In 
fact   I  shall  be  tremendously  interested.     I'd  do  a 

I8S 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

good  deal  niore  than  that,  my  dear  Ellerdine,  if  I 
could,  to  help  Mrs.  Admaston  in  any  way." 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  the  peer.  "We'll  just 
finish  our  tea,  and  pay  that  pretty-looking  girl  and 
take  a  taxi  at  once." 

In  five  minutes  they  had  dismissed  the  cab  and 
were  being  carried  in  a  lift  to  the  third  floor  of  a 
big  block  of  buildings  in  Coleman  Street. 

The  door  of  Mr.  Devereux's  office  was  marked 
"Enter,"  and  the  newcomers  found  themselves  in  a 
small  but  comfortably  furnished  room.  At  a  round 
polished  table,  on  whiclf  there  was  a  typewriting 
machine,  sat  a  young  lady,  who  was  reading  a  novel 
of  Miss  Marie  Corelli's. 

"Mr.  Devereux  is  in,"  she  said  in  answer  to  their 
queries,  "but  he  is  just  about  to  leave.  However, 
I  will  take  your  name  and  see  if  he  can  see  you." 

Some  people  would  have  been  annoyed  at  this 
fashion  of  greeting,  but  to  the  two  simple  gentle- 
men in  question  it  seemed  quite  right  and  proper 
that  such  a  rare  bird  as  an  American  handwriting 
expert  should  be  fenced  round  with  a  certain  ritual. 

"Tell  Mr.  Devereux,"  said  Lord  Ellerdine,  "that 
Lord  Ellerdine  is  here.     Mr.  Devereux  knows  me." 

Unlike  the  young  person  in  the  cafe,  the  young 
lady  in  the  office  did  not  seem  at  all  impressed,  but 
languidly  sauntered  through  the  door  which  led  to 
the  inner  room.    She  came  back  much  more  quickly 

i86 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

than  she  had  entered.  "Mr.  Devereux  begs  that 
you  will  step  in,"  she  said,  and  once  more  fell  to  her 
enthralling  romance  as  the  door  closed  behind  the 
visitors. 

Mr.  Devereux  was  a  well-dressed,  trim  young 
American  with  a  hard,  clean-shaved  face.  His  man- 
ner was  brisk,  business-like,  and  deferential,  and  his 
whole  appearance  suggested  energy  and  capability. 

Upon  his  large  leather-covered  writing-table  were 
various  appliances  used  in  his  business. 

One  saw  a  microscope  of  some  peculiar  construc- 
tion. There  were  a  variety  of  small  lenses  and 
reading-glasses,  together  with  various  instruments 
of  shining  steel  for  measuring,  with  extreme  ac- 
curacy, the  length  qf  a  letter  or  a  line. 

There  was  also  an  enlarging  camera  upon  a 
shelf  by  the  window,  and  a  door  in  one  corner  of 
the  place  was  marked  "Dark  room." 

"Glad  to  see  you  again,  my  lord,"  said  Mr. 
Devereux.    "Not  a  forgery  case  this  time,  I  hope?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  Lord  Ellerdine  replied,  shaking 
hands  with  the  expert.  "Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Dev- 
ereux. No ;  it  is  something  far  more  important  than 
a  cheque  for  fifty  pounds.  It  is  to  do  with  the  Ad- 
maston  divorce  case." 

Mr.  Devereux  started.  His  face  became  almost 
ferret-like  in  its  intentness,  while  he  said  nasally, 
but  with  suppressed  eagerness  in  his  voice,  "I  guess 

187 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

this  is  a  bit  of  luck.  I  have  just  seen  this  evening's 
paper,  and  of  course  I  have  followed  the  case  with 
great  interest  from  first  to  last.  I  know  without  any 
possibility  of  doubt  that  all  my  brother  experts  in 
London  have  been  consulted.  And  from  the  first 
it  has  rather  hurt  me  that  nobody  had  come  to  me, 
because  I  do  claim " 

Lord  Ellerdine  interrupted  him.  "I  know,  I 
know,"  he  said ;  "there  is  no  one  that  can  touch  you, 

Mr.  Devereux.     But  probably,  you  see "     He 

hesitated  in  his  effort  to  soothe  the  somewhat 
wounded  feelings  of  the  expert. 

Colonel  Adams  came  to  the  rescue.  "Well,  Mr. 
Devereux,"  he  said,  "here  we  are,  and  we  have  got 
something  very  important  on  which  to  ask  your 
opinion." 

The  expert  became  all  attention  once  more. 
"What  is  it?"  he  said  briefly. 

Lord  Ellerdine  put  his  hand  in  the  breast-pocket 
of  his  coat  and  withdrew  a  long  envelope  full  of 
papers, 

"I  have  here,"  he  said,  "exact  photographs  and 
tracings — everything  that  you  will  probably  find 
needful,  in  fact — of  the  two  letters  which  you  have 
just  been  reading  about  in  the  evening  paper,  and 
which  have  caused  such  a  tremendous  sensation  this 
afternoon.  It  seems  at  the  moment  that  Mrs.  Ad- 
maston  has  absolutely  lost  her  case.    To  all  outward 

i88 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

appearances  these  letters  have  ruined  her.  At  the 
same  time,  I  am  certain  that  she  knew  nothing  about 
them,  and  that  Mr.  ColHngwood  knew  nothing  about 
them  either.     You  follow  me?" 

Lord  Ellerdine  had  never  been  so  concise  and 
explanatory  before,  but  the  occasion  had  come,  and 
he  had  risen  to  it. 

"I  follow  you  perfectly,"  said  the  expert. 

"Very  well,  then,"  Lord  Ellerdine  said ;  "here  are 
the  letters,  and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  you 
think  about  them." 

He  gave  the  envelope  to  the  expert,  who  with- 
drew the  papers  it  contained  and  spread  them  upon 
the  table. 

He  began  to  study  them  with  grave  attention. 
The  two  men  sat  in  the  comfortable  chairs  he  had 
indicated  to  them. 

"My  lord,"  said  the  expert,  looking  up  suddenly, 
"I  guess  you  won't  realise  the  necessity  of  it,  but 
I  should  very  much  like  to  be  left  alone  for  say 
twenty  minutes.  I  can  think  better  when  I  am 
alone,  and  I  gather  you  want  an  immediate  opinion  ?" 

"We  do,"  Lord  Ellerdine  replied.  "All  right;  we 
will  go,  and  come  back  in  half  an  hour  or  so." 

The  two  gentlemen  re-entered  the  waiting-room. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  Lord  Ellerdine  briskly  to 
the  young  lady,  "we  are  put  out  here  while  Mr. 

189 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Devereux  examines  some  papers  I  have  brought  in ; 
and  he  tells  us  that  we  are  to  talk  to  you — what?" 

The  young  lady  put  down  her  volume.  "Fright- 
fully cold,"  she  said,  "isn't  it?"  And  for  the  next 
half-hour  Lord  Ellerdine  and  Colonel  Adams  and 
this  very  superior  young  lady  conversed  with  a 
studied  propriety  which  certainly  did  not  obtain  in 
the  drawing-rooms  where  the  two  gentlemen  were 
accustomed  to  visit. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  the  door  opened  and  the 
keen-faced  American  came  out. 

He  was  rubbing  his  hands  briskly  as  though 
pleased  with  himself.  "Guess  I  have  got  something 
for  you,  at  anyrate,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  come  in 
here." 

They  re-entered  the  inner  room,  and  Devereux 
began.  "I  can  tell  you  one  thing,"  he  said,  "and 
one  thing  only." 

Lord  Ellerdine  was  trembling  with  excitement. 
"What  is  it?"  he  said  breathlessly.     "Will  it  help?" 

"It  may,"  the  expert  rephed;  "but  at  anyrate  it 
is  this.  Those  two  letters  were  written  by  some  one 
who  can  write  with  the  left  hand  as  well  as  with 
the  right.  There  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  about 
it,  and  I  don't  care  what  any  of  your  darned  English 
experts  may  say." 

Lord  Ellerdine's  face  fell.  "With  the  left  hand  ?" 
he  asked  vaguely. 

190 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

The  expert  nodded.  "I  will  explain  to  you,"  he 
said,  pulling  a  large  book  of  manuscripts  towards 
him ;  and  illustrating  his  theory  with  swift,  decisive 
movements  upon  a  blank  sheet  of  paper,  he  showed 
the  two  men  exactly  the  reasons  for  his  diagnosis. 

"Now,  my  lord,"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished 
and  made  certain  that  both  of  them  thoroughly  un- 
derstood— "now,  my  lord,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
find  the  person  who  writes  with  his  or  her  left 
hand  and  could  have  possibly  been  sufficiently  ac- 
quainted with  the  facts  to  produce  those  two  letters. 
When  that  is  done  you  will  have  the  person." 

Lord  Ellerdine  was  considerably  disappointed.  He 
had  imagined  that  by  some  occult  means  the  expert 
would  have  been  immediately  able  to  name  the  writer 
of  the  letters.  He  strove  to  conceal  what  he  felt, 
however;  and  after  paying  Mr,  Devereux's  fee  the 
two  men  left  the  building. 

"It  isn't  much,"  Lord  Ellerdine  said,  as  they  got 
into  a  cab  and  drove  rapidly  towards  the  West  End. 
"It  isn't  much,  but  it  is  something.  I  will  drop 
you  at  your  club — Cocoa  Tree,  isn't  it? — and  then 
drive  straight  to  Collingwood's  solicitors  to  find  out 
where  he  is.  It  is  not  much,  but  it  is  something," 
he  repeated  rather  vaguely  to  himself;  and  then 
both  men  became  occupied  with  their  own  thoughts 
and  were  silent 


191 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  drawing-room  of  Mrs.  Admaston's  house  in 
St.  James's  was  thought  by  many  people  to  be  one 
of  the  most  deh^htful  rooms  in  town. 

The  Morris  and  aesthetic  conventions  were  en- 
tirely ignored  in  it.  There  were  no  soft  greys  or 
greens,  no  patterns  of  pomegranates,  no  brown  and 
pleasing  sombreness.  The  room  expressed  Peggy 
herself,  and  was  designed  entirely  by  her. 

It  was  large,  panelled  entirely  in  white  with  sparse 
gilding,  and  the  ceiling  was  white  also,  though 
slightly  different  in  tone.  The  very  few  pictures 
which  hung  upon  the  walls  were  all  of  the  gay  Wat- 
teau  school,  and  there  were  some  fans  painted  on 
silk  and  framed  by  Charles  Conder. 

The  furniture  was  not  obtrusive.  It  was  in  the 
light  style  of  the  Second  Empire,  fragile  and  deli- 
cate in  appearance,  but  strong  and  comfortable 
enough  in  experience. 

The  room  was  essentially  a  summer  room,  and 
yet  one  could  see  that  even  in  winter  time  it  would 
strike  a  note  of  warmth,  hospitality,  and  comfort. 

For,  with  great  wisdom,  Peggy  had  made  con- 
192 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

cessions.  While  the  drawing-room  still  preserved 
its  gay  French  air,  there  was,  nevertheless,  a  huge 
open  hearth  on  which,  in  winter,  logs  and  coal 
glowed  redly.  Now,  it  was  filled  with  great  bunches 
of  the  simple  pink  foxglove. 

Standing  out  from  the  fireplace,  at  right  angles 
to  the  wall,  was  a  large  sofa  of  blue  linen;  and 
there  was  also  a  big  writing-table  with  a  pleasant 
furniture  of  chased  silver  upon  it. 

This  room  in  the  luxurious  house  was  called  the 
"drawing-room,"  but  it  was  not  really  that.  It 
was,  in  fact,  Mrs.  Admaston's  own  particular  room 
— she  hated  the  word  boudoir.  The  big  reception- 
rooms  had  no  such  intimate  and  pleasant  aspect — 
splendid  as  they  were — as  this. 

The  flowers  bloomed  on  the  hearth,  the  long  dull- 
green  curtains  had  not  yet  veiled  the  warm  outside 
evening,  when  a  footman  entered  and  flung  open 
the  two  big  doors  which  led  into  this  delightful 
place. 

The  man  stood  waiting  with  one  arm  stretched 
out  upon  one  leaf  of  the  door. 

Mrs.  Admaston  and  Lady  Attwill  entered,  and 
Pauline  followed  them. 

"Bring  some  tea  at  once,"  Pauline  said  in  a  low 
voice  to  the  footman. 

Then  she  turned  to  Peggy.  "Madame,"  she  said 
193 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

in  a  voice  full  of  pain,  "do  compose  yourself.    You 
will  be  very  ill  if  you  go  on  like  this." 

Peggy's  face  was  dangerously  flushed.  Her  eyes 
glittered,  her  hands  clasped  and  unclasped  them- 
selves. 

"That  letter!"  she  cried.  "That  fiendish  letter! 
Who  could  have  sent  it?  What  devil  planned  that 
trap?" 

Lady  AttwHl  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Anony- 
mous— take  no  notice,"  she  said. 

Peggy  turned  on  her  like  a  whirlwind.  "Don't 
be  absurd,  Alice!"  she  cried.  "It  was  sent  before 
we  left  London.  Who  knew  we  should  go  to  Paris  ? 
Who  knew  that  we  should  stay  at  the  Tuileries?" 

Pauline  was  hovering  round  her  mistress  with  a 
face  that  was  all  anxiety,  with  hands  that  trembled 
to  touch  and  soothe.  "Remember,  madame,"  she 
said,  "it  was  sent  to  your  aunt.  Very  funny  that! 
She  has  never  liked  you,  that  grim  old  lady !" 

"Why  did  she  dislike  me?"  Peggy  said  petu- 
lantly. 

"Madame,  you  were  gay,  happy — like  sunbeams. 
Your  old  aunt  lived  in  the  shadows.  She  is  a  dour 
old  maid." 

"I  don't  see  what  she  has  to  do  with  it,"  Peggy 
answered.  "The  letter  was  written  by  some  one 
who  knew  that  we  were  going  to  stay  in  Paris, 
and  even  where  we  were  going  to  stay." 

194 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

I^dy  Attwill  went  up  to  the  fireplace  and  sank 
down  upon  the  sofa  of  blue  linen. 

In  her  smart  afternoon  costume  of  grey  silk,  and 
a  large  straw  hat  upon  which  the  flowers  were 
amethyst  and  purple,  she  made  a  perfect  colour- 
harmony  as  she  sat. 

"Why  was  it  sent  to  her?"  Lady  Attwill  asked. 

Peggy  sighed.  "I  don't  know,  except  that  she 
was  the  one  to  poison  George's  mind.  Without  her 
he  would  probably  have  ignored  it.  But  who  was  it 
who  kne^v  that  we  should  be  in  Paris  that  night? 
No  one  imagines  that  I  knew  or — Pauline.  Then 
there's  Dicky — that's  absurd." 

Peggy's  face  seemed  to  have  grown  older.  The 
terrible  ordeal  that  she  had  undergone  had  left  vivid 
traces  upon  it.  It  was  not  a  frightened  face — it  was 
the  face  of  one  who  had  been  agonised,  but  it  was 
also  a  face  of  great  perplexity. 

Pauline  interposed.  "Madame,"  she  said,  "if  you 
did  not  know  that  you  would  be  staying  at  Paris 
that  night,  the  writer  of  that  letter  must  be  some 
one  who  did  know,  and  who  planned  this  trick  to 
cc«npromise  you.  There  are  only  two  who  could 
have  known.    Madame — I  do  not  like  .  .  ." 

In  the  maid's  voice  the  old,  harsh  Breton  deter- 
mination had  flashed  out.  She  turned  towards  Lady 
Attwill,  and  her  whole  voice  and  bearing  were  a 
challenge. 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Her  head  was  pushed  a  little  forward,  moving 
from  side  to  side  like  a  snake  about  to  strike;  un- 
consciously her  arms  were  set  akimbo. 

Lady  Attwill  looked  languidly  at  the  angry 
woman.  *^ou  need  have  no  delicacy,  Pauline,"  she 
said.  **Ca  fait  rien,  expliquez-vous.  Tiens !  What 
you  want  to  say  is  that  the  letter  was  written  by 
Mr.  Collingwood  or  by  myself — or  by  somebody  or 
other  procured  by  us  to  do  it.  C'cst  votre  idee, 
n'est-ce  pas?" 

The  woman,  in  her  way — in  her  languid  way — 
was  defiant  as  the  old  Breton  bonne  herself. 

Peggy  rose  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
room.  She  had  been  sitting  almost  opposite  Lady 
Attwill,  but  now  there  seemed  to  be  hesitation  and 
perplexity,  not  only  in  her  voice,  but  in  her  whole 
attitude. 

"But  you  could  not  have  done  it,  Alice,"  she  said. 
"The  luggage,  don't  you  know — it  was  Colling  who 
saw  that  it  was  not  registered." 

"That  is  only  what  the  porter  says,"  Alice  Attwill 
answered  grimly. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  Peggy  replied,  "it  is  only  too  ob- 
viously true.  Pauline  saw  through  it  the  same  night. 
Didn't  you  think  it  was  very  funny?" 

Lady  Attwill  fell  immediately  into  the  suggestion. 

**Well,  dear,"  she  said,  "Dicky  and  I  were  a  little 
196 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

bit  suspicious,  since  you  put  it  to  me;  but  I  hardly 
liked  to  suggest " 

Peggy  turned  from  both  of  them  and  went  up 
to  the  piano,  standing  by  it  and  drumming  upon 
it  with  her  gloved  fingers.  "CoIHng!"  she  mut- 
tered. "It's  impossible!  And  yet  just  now  when  I 
left  the  court  I  could  not  think  how  else  it  could 
have  been  done/' 

She  wheeled  round.  "Alice,"  she  said,  "do  you 
think  it  could  have  been  Colling?  Do  you?  What 
reason  could  he  have  had?" 

Alice  Attwill's  hands  were  clasped  upon  her  knee. 
She  was  bending  forward,  nodding  her  head  slightly 
from  time  to  time,  and  had  an  almost  judicial  pose. 

She  appeared  to  be  thinking.  "My  dear  Peggy," 
she  said  at  length,  "I  can  see  plenty  of  reasons. 
After  all,  we  know  that  Colling  won't  be  sorry  if 
Admaston  gets  his  divorce. '^' 

"I  beg  miladi's  pardon,"  Pauline  broke  in,  **but 
I  do  not  think  that  is  so." 

"C'est  bien  possible,"  Lady  Attwill  replied  to  the 
maid.  And  then,  looking  at  Peggy,  "I  am  sure  I 
can't  imagine  Mr.  Collingwood  doing  such  a  thing. 
I  am  the  last  person  to  make  mischief." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke  and  walked  towards  the 
door.  "Come  along,  Peggy,"  she  said;  "you  must 
get  your  things  off-^you've  had  such  a  horrible  day." 

197 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Peggy  looked  at  her  wildly.  She  hardly  seemed 
to  hear  what  she  was  saying. 

"No — no — let  me  think — I  must  think!"  she 
cried,  and  there  was  a  rising  note  of  hysteria  in 
her  voice. 

"Well,"  Lady  Attwill  said  calmly,  "I  must  get 
out  of  my  things,  at  anyrate."  Then  she  spoke  with 
something  which  sounded  like  affection  in  her  voice. 

"Peggy,'-  she  said,  "you  really  must  lie  down  and 
rest — I  shall  be  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

With  a  bright  smile  she  took  her  parasol  and  left 
the  room. 

Then  Peggy  let  herself  go. 

"Oh!  How  cruel  it  is!"  she  cried,  raging  up 
and  down  the  drawing-room.  "They  have  taken 
all  the  joy  out  of  my  life  1  I  feel  as  if  they  had 
burnt  the  damning  letter  in  scarlet  upon  my  breast 
— branded  by  law,  divorce-court  law  I  Oh,  the  ig- 
nominy, the  shame  of  it  all — the  shame!  It  is 
barbarous!  To  hold  a  woman  up  and  torture  her 
before  a  pruriently  minded  crowd  whether  she  is 
guilty  or  not!  Am  I  giiilty  because  I  can't  prove 
that  I  am  innocent?" 

The  old  maid  ran  up  to  Peggy  and  caught  her 
firmly  by  the  arms,  pressing  her  down  into  a  chair. 

"Rest !  rest !"  she  said,  with  the  tears  rolling  down 
her  cheeks.  "Mignon,  you  will  break  my  heart  if 
you  go  on  like  this.    You  are  innocent;  I  stake  my 

198 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

soul  on  that.  Wait — wait  till  to-morrow  when  I  am 
witness.    I  will  tell  them!" 

Peggy's  arms  went  round  the  old  maid's  neck  and 
she  drew  the  gnarled  face  to  hers.  "Pauline,"  she 
said,  "dear  Pauline!  They  will  torture  you  as  they 
did  me.  It  is  useless.  Sir  Robert  Fyffe  will  make 
you  say  just  what  he  wants.  It  is  not  justice  that 
triumps  in  the  end — it  is  intellect  that  damns. 
Pauline,  do  you  think  that  Mr.  Collingwood  knew 
that  we  should  be  in  Paris  that  night,  and  that  he 
wrote  the  letter?" 

Pauline  kissed  her.  "I  think,  madame,"  she  said, 
"that  M.  Collingwood  knew  that  we  should  be  in 
Paris.  But  I  am  certain  he  did  not  write  that  letter. 
M.  Collingwood  might  have  done  a  very  foolish 
thing,  thinking  that  you  loved  him — but  he  is  a  gen- 
tleman." 

"But  if  he  did  not  write  it — then  you  think  that 
Lady  Attwill  .  .  .   ?" 

"Comme  vous  voulez?  If  it  is  not  M.  Colling- 
wood, madame,  it  must  be  Lady  Attwill." 

"But  why  should  she  have  done  such  a  fiendish 
thing?" 

"She  has  never  forgiven  you  for  marrying  Mr. 
Admaston.  Did  I  not  tell  you,  madame?  Did  I 
not  say  that  to  you  in  Paris?" 

Peggy  nodded.  "Yes,  Pauline,"  she  replied ;  "but 
199 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

I  can't  believe  you.    She  has  seen  my  misery.    No, 
Pauline,  it  is  impossible!" 

"Madame,  it  is  not  impossible.  She  can  only 
conquer  by  your  misery." 

Peggy  jumped  up  from  the  sofa,  her  whole  body 
shaking,  her  face  aflame  with  righteous  anger, 
"Pauline!"  she  said  in  a  shrill  voice,  "I  mitst  find 
out  who  wrote  that  letter." 

"Yes,  madame,"  the  old  maid  replied,  with  a 
despairing  gesture  of  her  hands ;  "but  how  will  you 
do  it?" 

"I  shall  employ  the  same  weapons  to  find  out 
that  as  they  have  brought  against  me.  The  law, 
the  officers,  the  craft  and  cunning  of  the  whole 
machine.  I  am  very  rich,  Pauline,  quite  apart  from 
my  husband — as  you  know  very  well;  but,  if  it 
cost  me  every  penny  I  had,  I  would  spend  it  all, 
if  necessary,  to  find  out  who  wrote  that  letter." 

The  door  opened  and  two  footmen  came  in  with 
the  tea  equipage.  Peggy  looked  up  at  them,  an- 
noyed at  the  interruption;  then  her  eye  fell  upon 
the  windows  at  the  end  of  the  room  which  led  upon 
a  long,  secluded  terrace  outside  the  drawing-room. 
It  was  called  the  "terrace  lounge." 

"Not  here,"  she  said  impatiently;  "on  the  ter- 
race." 

The  men  took  the  table  through  the  windows, 
200 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

pulling  aside  the  curtains  which  half  veiled  the  view 
beyond. 

"I'll  rest  and  think,  Pauline,"  Peggy  said.  "I 
can  always  think  in  that  old  Sheraton  chair  on  the 
terrace." 

"But  if  M.  Collingwood  calls  ?"  Pauline  asked. 

"Why  should  he  call?"  Peggy  said.  "I  see  no 
reason." 

"He  telephoned  asking  if  you  would  see  him," 
the  maid  replied. 

"Ah !"  Peggy  said,  with  a  sudden  note  of  resolve. 

It  frightened  the  faithful  Breton  maid.  "Don't 
see  him,  madame!"  she  cried.     "Rest!" 

"No  rest  for  us  yet,  Pauline.  ...  I  will  see 
him.  I  must  see  him.  Let  him  be  shown  in  here. 
Tell  me  as  soon  as  he  comes." 

She  turned  and  went  through  one  of  the  windows 
just  as  the  two  men-servants  came  out  of  the  other, 
having  arranged  the  things  for  tea. 

"When  M.  Collingwood  comes,"  Pauline  said, 
"show  him  in  here." 

The  first  footman  bowed.  Pauline's  word  was 
law  in  this  house;  and,  though  it  was  bitterly  re- 
sented bclow-stairs  that  she,  a  servant  herself,  should 
have  such  authority,  no  one  ventured  to  dispute  it. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  drawing-room — not  the  end 
where  the  curtained  windows  led  out  on  to  the  ter- 
race lounge — there  was  a  tall  screen  of  carved  tcak- 

201 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

wood  from  Benares.  Behind  it  upon  a  little  table 
stood  a  telephone.  The  Admastons — ^husband  and 
wife — ^had  always  made  a  great  point  of  using  the 
telephone.  Peggy  herself,  with  her  impulsive  moods, 
found  it  most  convenient,  and  insisted  upon  having 
one  in  any  room  that  she  habitually  used. 

Pauline,  her  face  wrinkled  in  thought,  strolled 
mechanically  to  this  corner  of  the  room  and  gazed 
down  upon  the  glittering  little  machine  of  ebony 
and  silver  with  a  frown  of  dislike.  She  was  think- 
ing of  Collingwood  and  his  message,  and  a  dull  re- 
sentment glowed  in  her  brain  at  these  mechanical 
facilities  of  life. 

There  were  no  telephones  in  Pont-Aven  when 
she  was  a  girl  in  the  ancient  Breton  town,  and  these 
things  seemed  to  her  part  and  parcel  of  the  hot, 
feverish,  and  hurried  life  in  which  her  beloved  mis- 
tress was  suffering  so  greatly. 

The  old  bonne's  face,  kindly  and  sweet  enough 
when  it  wore  its  ordinary  expression,  was  now 
mocking  and  malevolent  as  she  stared  at  the  table. 
Suddenly  she  stiffened,  raised  her  head,  and  listened 
intently. 

She  had  heard  the  door  of  the  drawing-room 
open  and  close  quietly,  and  there  came  a  rustle  of 
silk  skirts. 

Lady  Attwill  had  glided  quietly  into  the  room 
202 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

and  stepped  up  to  the  big  writing-table  at  which 
Peggy  conducted  most  of  her  correspondence. 

The  maid  stepped  out  from  behind  the  screen,  her 
eyes  shining  curiously.  "Can  I  do  anything  for 
madame?"  she  asked.  "Miladi  a  oublie  quelque 
chose,  n'est-ce  pas?" 

The  tall,  slim  woman  seemed  strangely  confused. 
Her  face  was  a  little  flushed,  her  glance  at  Pauline 
distinctly  uneasy. 

She  made  an  exclamation  in  French,  paused  to 
think,  and  then  answered  Pauline  in  English. 

"I  thought  I  left  my  bag  down  here,"  she  said 
lamely. 

Without  troubling  to  disguise  the  suspicion  and 
hostility  in  her  voice,  and  with  a  slightly  sneering 
note  of  triumph  in  it,  as  if  she  was  pleased  at  Alice 
Attwill's  confusion,  Pauline  made  a  little  mocking 
bow. 

"Madame  had  her  bag  in  her  hand  when  she  went 
upstairs.  But  I  will  ring  and  ask."  She  went  to- 
wards the  nearest  bell-push. 

"No!  no!"  Lady  Aftwill  answered;  "please  don't 
trouWe.    I  must  be  mistaken." 

Without  a  backward  glance  she  almost  hurried 
frcwn  the  room. 

Pauline's  face  was  now  extraordinarily  watchful 
and  alert.  All  the  peasant  cunning  flashed  out  upon 
it.    Any  one  who  has  seen  the  wives  and  daughters 

203 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

of  the  small  Breton  farmers  selling  a  cow  or  a  pony 
on  market-day  in  some  old-world  town  has  seen  this 
cautious,  watchful  look.  One  can  see  it  even  on 
the  face  and  in  the  eyes  of  a  pointer  when  birds 
are  near:  it  is  of  the  soil,  primeval,  part  of  the 
eternal  hidden  warfare  of  life. 

"Yes,  perhaps  madame  is  mistaken,"  the  woman 
said  to  herself  with  an  ugly  grin. 

She  walked  up  to  the  writing-table  and  looked 
down  upon  it  thoughtfully. 

Suddenly  something  seemed  to  strike  her  and  she 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  open  the  great  blotter  of 
Nile-green  leather,  bordered  with  silver,  when  the 
telephone  bell  rang  sharply  out  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

She  hurried  to  the  telephone.  "Who  is  it?"  she 
said.  *'What?  Yes,  this  is  Admaston  House — 
yes.     She  is  in.     Who  is  it?    Yes,  sir," 

Still  holding  the  receiver  in  her  hand,  the  woman 
staggered  back  from  the  mouthpiece.  She  began 
to  tremble  violently.  Her  face  became  crimson 
with  excitement. 

"Oh,  sir!  she  is  .  .  ." 

And  now  Pauline  burst  out  crying.  The  tears 
ran  down  her  cheeks,  her  old  mouth  trembled,  she 
seemed  upon  the  point  of  a  breakdown. 

**Oh,  sir!"  she  cried  again,  "she  has  gone  out 
upon  the  terrace,  and  is  resting.     Monsieur,  I  can 

204 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

hardly  speak  to  you!     Your  wife  is  nearly  mad, 
monsieur !    Monsieur,  she  is  innocent — on  my  soul !" 

Her  face  became  intensely  eager.  "Yes,"  she 
sobbed,  "come.  Yes,  by  the  gate  leading  from  the 
Park.  You  have  the  key.  No.  Yes,  come;  I  will 
promise." 

With  hands  that  shook  terribly,  Pauline  replaced 
the  receiver  on  the  bracket  and  came  round  from 
behind  the  Indian  screen,  walking  towards  the  door. 
She  had  not  got  within  three  paces  of  it  when  it 
was  flung  open  and  the  footman  announced  "Mr. 
Q)lIingwood." 

Roderick  Collingw'ood  entered,  spruce,  dehonncdre 
as  ever,  but  showing  in  his  face  traces  of  the  ordeal 
he  was  passing  through. 

"Hullo,  Pauline;  where  is  madame?"  he  said. 

"Madame  is  resting,"  the  maid  said,  with  distinct 
hostility. 

"Out  upon  the  terrace?"  he  answered,  moving 
towards  the  windows. 

Pauline  made  a  swift  movement  and  placed  her- 
self between  him  and  the  curtains. 

"No;  I  think  she  is  in  her  room,  monsieur.  Please 
wait  here." 

Colling\^'ood  looked  at  Pauline  in  some  surprise. 
He  seemed  hurt.  "What  is  the  matter,  Pauline?" 
he  said. 

20S 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Nothing  is  the  matter,  sir.  Would  you  like  to 
see  the  news?^' 

She  handed  him  the  evening  paper  from  the 
writing-table.  "I  will  tell  madame,"  she  said,  and 
hurried  from  the  room — well  knowing  that  there  was 
another  door  from  the  liall  by  which  the  terrace  could 
be  reached. 

Collingwood  picked  up  the  paper,  opened  it,  and 
eagerly  scanned  the  report  of  the  day's  proceedings. 
Then  he  flung  it  down  with  an  oath  just  as  a  foot- 
man entered  the  room.  "Lord  Ellerdine  wishes  to 
speak  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  footman. 

"Is  he  here?"  Collingwood  replied. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Show  him  up  at  once." 

In  a  moment  or  two  more  Lord  Ellerdine,  looking 
flurried  and  hot,  entered  the  drawing-room. 

His  hat  was  in  his  hand,  and  he  was  wearing  a 
light  grey  overcoat. 

"My  dear  Dicky,"  Collingwood  said,  "what  on 
earth  brings  you  here?" 

CoUingwood  had  risen  and  strolled  over  to  the  big 
settee  of  blue  linen.    He  sat  down  upon  it  calmly. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you  something,"  Lord  Ellerdine 
said  in  a  rather  unsteady  voice;  "so  I  went  round 
to  your  solicitors'  office,  and  they  told  me  that  I 
should  find  you  here." 

206 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  Collingwood  asked  imper- 
turbably. 

"I  say,  Colling — do  you  write  with  your  left 
hand?" 

The  other  made  a  movement  of  impatience.  "My 
dear  Dicky,"  he  said  irritably,  "what  the  devil .  .  .  ?" 

"But  do  you  ?"  Ellerdine  insisted. 

"Of  course  I  don't,"  Collingwood  answered 
shortly. 

"I  thought  as  much,"  said  Lord  Ellerdine,  with 
a  sigh  of  relief. 

"You  did,  did  you?"  Collingwood  replied,  with 
a  slight  smile.    "What  is  the  game,  Dicky?" 

"It's  not  a  game.  Colling;  it's  dead  serious,"  said 
the  ex-diplomatist. 

"Why,  Dicky,  what's  up?" 

"You  remember  some  time  ago  when  some  silly 
ass  forged  my  name  on  a  cheque?"  Lord  Ellerdine 
asked,  still  flurried  and  ill  at  ease. 

"Well?" 

"Well,  I  got  to  know  a  handwriting  expert — an 
American — a  devilish  smart  fellow.  When  we  left 
the  court  just  now,  and  Peggy  was  thinking  pretty 
rotten  things  about  you,  I  thought  I  would  go  and 
have  a  word  with  him." 

Collingwood's  languid  manner  entirely  disap- 
peared. He  bent  forward  with  a  keen,  searching 
look  at  his  friend.    "You  found  him  ?"  he  asked. 

207 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

EUerdine  nodded. 

"Well,  what  does  he  say?" 

"I  showed  him  the  photos  of  the  letters,"  Lord 
EUerdine  continued,  "and  then  the  originals,  and 
he  says  that  they  are  written  by  some  one  who 
writes  easily  and  fluently  with  his  left  hand." 

"Left  hand!    Great  Scott!    Is  he  sure?" 

"As  sure  as  an  American  expert  can  be  of  any- 
thing," the  peer  returned. 

"That's  sure  enough,"  Collingwood  replied, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  and  rising  up  from  the 
sofa. 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room.  "That 
clears  me,  at  anyrate,"  he  said.  "But  what  the  de\il 
can  it  all  mean,  EUerdine?" 

Lord  EUerdine  had  been  looking  at  his  friend, 
pathetically  waiting  for  a  word  of  praise.  Now  he 
ventured  upon  a  little  fishing  remark: 

"Mighty  good  thing  I  thought  of  that  American 
chap — don't  you  think  so.  Colling?" 

Collingwood  hardly  seemed  to  hear  him.  His 
head  was  bent  forward  and  he  was  deep  in  thought. 

"Yes,  Dicky,  yes.    Left  hand,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  Lord  EUerdine  answered,  with  a  plaintive 
note  in  his  voice.  "I  think.  Colling,  I've  handled 
this  business  with  some  skill — what?" 

"Left  hand,"  the  other  repeated,  in  a  brown  study. 
208 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"With  some  skill,  Colling— what  ?  Skill— what  ?" 
Lord  Ellerdine  bleated. 

CollingM^ood  looked  up  at  this  note  in  the  other's 
voice.  He  suddenly  realised  that  the  poor  gentle- 
man was  pining  for  praise,  and  began  to  administer 
it  in  the  heartiest  possible  fashion. 

He  smacked  him  on  the  shoulder  and  his  voice 
became  absolutely  jovial.  "Skill!"  he  said.  "My 
dear  Dicky,  it's  splendid !  Really,  you  missed  your 
vocation.  Diplomacy !  Never !  You're  a  detective, 
Dicky !  A  sleuth-hound !  A  regular  Sherlock  Holmes, 
don't  you  know !" 

Lord  Ellerdine  was  the  happiest  man  in  the  three 
kingdoms  at  that  moment.  His  little  mouth  twitched 
with  pleasure.  His  face  beamed  like  the  rising  sun. 
"I  say.  Colling,  do  you  think  so — do  you  really 
think  so.  Colling?" 

"Think  so!"  Collingwood  answered,  laughing. 
"I'm  sure  of  it,  old  chap" ;  and  then,  with  a  sudden, 
swift  transition  of  manner,  "Dicky,  look  here — have 
you  told  Admaston?" 

"Not  yet,"  Lord  Ellerdine  replied.  "George  Ad- 
maston is  hard  hit,  devilish  hard  hit.  He  doesn't 
believe  Peggy's  guilty — he'd  chuck  the  case  if  it 
wasn't  for  Fyffe." 

"Chuck  the  case !'  Collingwood  said  eagerly. 

"I  honestly  believe  he  would,"  Lord  Ellerdine 
answered.     "It's  the  letter  which  sticks  with  Fyffe, 

2og 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

and  I  don't  understand  it — we  come  against  the 
beastly  thing  all  the  time." 

Collingwood  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  said;  "that  let- 
ter's hell." 

He  suddenly  raised  his  head.  "Look  here,  Dicky," 
he  said,  "I  think  I  hear  Peggy  coming;  so  off  you 
go,  please.  Get  your  American  expert  to  dine  with 
us  to-night  at  your  place,  at  eight  o'clock.  Run 
along." 

Ellerdine  went  to  the  door.  "All  right,  old  chap," 
he  said;  "that  is  what  I'll  do.  Eight  o'clock.  I'm 
so  glad  it  wasn't  you,  old  chap — such  a  dirty  busi- 
ness !" 

He  went  out  of  the  room,  not  noticing  that  he 
had  left  his  hat  and  gloves  upon  the  writing-table. 

A  moment  afterwards  Peggy  entered,  pulling 
aside  the  curtains  of  the  terrace  window.  She 
started  violently  when  she  saw  Collingwood.  "You 
here!"  she  said,  and  there  was  an  ugly  note  of 
apprehension  and  even  of  anger  in  her  voice. 
"You " 

Collingwood  went  up  to  her.     "Peggy !"  he  said. 

"Wasn't  that  Dicky  I  heard?" 

"Yes." 

Collingwood  had  hardly  said  it,  and  the  two  were 
looking  at  each  other  strangely  enough,  when  the 
door  leading  into  the  hall  opened  and  Lord  Eller- 

210 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

dine  came  back.     "Forgot  my  hat,  old  chap,"  he 
said,  going  up  to  the  table.    Then  he  saw  Peggy. 

"Peggy!"  he  cried,  going  up  to  her  and  taking 
one  of  her  hands  in  both  of  his.  "Buck  up,  little 
woman !    It'll  be  all  right — we'll  pull  you  through !" 

Then  he  began  to  hesitate  and  stammer,  while  his 
cheeks  flushed  and  he  showed  every  possible  sign 
of  embarrassment. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  "we'll  pull  you  through. 
Won't  we,  Colling?" 

He  hesitated,  at  a  loss  for  words;  and  then  his 
eye  fell  upon  the  table.  "Ah!"  he  said.  "My  hat 
— yes — good-bye.  Buck  up,  little  woman!  And, 
Colling,  don't  forget  eight  o'clock  to-night." 

Red  and  shy  as  a  schoolgirl.  Lord  Ellerdine  some- 
how got  himself  out  of  the  room. 

"Poor,  dear  old  Dicky!"  Peggy  said  with  a  sigh, 
more  to  herself  than  to  her  companion;  and  then, 
turning,  "Colling,  why  have  you  come?" 

Collingwood  held  out  both  his  hands.  "Peggy 
—dear  little  Peggy!"  he  said.  "My  heart  bleeds 
for  you !" 

Peggy  stepped  back.  "Don't  let's  talk  about 
that,"  she  said  swiftly. 

"But,  Peggy " 

"It  is  rather  late,"  the  girl  returned  in  the  same 
cold  voice;  "the  time  for  sympathy  is  long  past 
Why  did  you  ask  to  see  me  ?" 

211 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

There  was  a  deep  note  of  passion  in  Colling- 
wood's  voice  as  he  answered.  "I  could  not  let  you 
think  what  I  could  see  you  were  thinking,"  he  said. 

Peggy  did  not  appear  moved  in  any  way.  "You 
promised,"  she  said,  "neither  to  come  nor  to  ask 
to  see  me." 

"I  could  not  stay  away  any  longer,"  he  answered; 
and  if  ever  a  man  had  tears  in  his  voice,  Colling- 
wood  had  then. 

**Have  you  come  to  tell  me  that  the  man  Stevens 
is  telling  a  lie,  and  that  our  trip  to  Paris  was  only 
accident  ?" 

"No,"  the  man  replied.  "Peggy  dear,  can  you 
ever " 

"Colling!  Colling!  why  did  you  do  it?"  she 
wailed. 

His  body  went  back  suddenly  as  if  he  had  received 
an  actual  blow  in  the  chest. 

"Oh,  Peggy— for  God's  sake!  .  .  ." 

"You  have  thought  neither  of  God  nor  me,"  she 
answered  bitterly. 

"Of  you,"  he  cried — "always  of  you,  Peggy !" 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said.  "Thought 
of  me  would  have  made  you  think  of  all  I  have  had 
to  suffer.  Did  you  think  of  me  when  you  planned 
to  go  to  Paris?  When  did  you  ever  think  of  me — 
my  being — my  life — my  soul  ?  What  excuse  can  you 
offer?" 

ai2 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

His  arms  fell  to  his  side,  his  face  was  pale  and 
passionate.  "Only  my  love,"  he  answered — "my 
fierce,  burning  love.  The  mad  desire  to  have  you 
for  my  own.  I  have  thought  of  nothing  else  since 
I  met  you." 

She  bent  forward  and  threw  out  her  arm.  The 
little  ivory-white  hand  was  palm  upwards,  and  it 
shook  in  dreadful  accusation. 

"Thought  of  me?"  she  cried.  "Was  it  thought 
of  me  that  drove  me  under  the  lash  of  that  man's 
scourge  to-day?  Was  it  thought  of  me  that  placed 
me  like  a  criminal  in  that  court  to-day  ?  How  could 
you  have  thought  of  me  and  not  foreseen  the  shame, 
the  misery,  and  the  torture  to  which  I  have  been 
subjected?  Where  was  your  love  for  me  when  you 
were  conscious  of  the  mass  of  evidence  these  crea- 
tures were  piling  up  against  me  ?  Did  your  love  of 
me  foresee  newsboys  rushing  about  the  streets  with 
placards  blazing  out  like  letters  of  fire,  'Mrs.  Ad- 
MASTON  ON  THE  Rack' ?    Rack,  Colling!" 

He  shook  his  head  with  a  terrible  gesture  of 
sadness. 

"No.  I  did  not  foresee  it,"  he  said,  "because 
you  made  me  believe  that  you  were  in  earnest — 
that  you  loved  me.  If  you  had  loved  me  you 
wouldn't  have  cared." 

"I  liked  you,  Colling,  I  liked  you,"  she  said ;  and 
now  all  the  fire  had  gone  from  her  voice. 

213 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Liked  me!  Was  it  mere  liking  that  made  you 
take  all  those  risks?  You  knew  my  intention.  I 
told  you  again  and  again  I  wanted  him  to  divorce 
you." 

"I  never  realised "  the  girl  said  hopelessly. 

His  voice  as  he  answered  her  was  very  soft  and 
tender. 

"No,  dear;  you  played  with  me.  I  am  not  blam- 
ing you,  but  don't  be  too  harsh  in  judging  me.  I 
know  the  torture  you  are  suffering  now,  Peggy,  and 
I  would  give  my  right  hand  to  save  you  from  it. 
But  don't  you  ever  think  of  the  torture  you  have 
given  me?  All  the  pain,  the  longing  of  months  and 
months — is  it  all  to  be  forgotten?  Oh,  I  know  it  is 
no  excuse  to  the  others ;  but  you,  dear,  will  know  in 
your  heart  that  I  did  it  because  I  loved  you,  thinking 
to  make  you  happy." 

"I  think  I  understand.  Colling,"  Peggy  said ;  "but 
the  letter " 

Collingwood  appeared  dazed.  "The  letter!"  he 
murmured. 

"Oh,  Colling,"  she  answered,  "I'll  forgive  you 
anything  you  have  done  because  you  loved  me;  but 
the  letter — you  will  own  up.  Colling?" 

"Own  up?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  Peggy  said;  "my  life  depends  on  it. 
You  are  a  man.  You  can  begin  again.  Don't  see 
me  g^o  under.    There  is  no  hope  for  a  woman.  Don't 

214 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

stand  there  and  watch  me  struggle  while  there  is  a 
chance  to  save  me.  I'll  forgive  everything — ^yes, 
everything — but  the  letter." 

Collingwood  seemed  genuinely  surprised.  His 
face,  which  at  first  appeared  perplexed,  now  showed 
nothing  but  astonishment  as  he  realised  what  she 
meant.  "Peggy — little  Peggy,"  he  said,  "surely  you 
don't  judge  me  as  harshly  as  that,  do  you?  No, 
dear ;  I  have  done  much  that  I  am  sorry  for — that  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  forgive  myself  for  as  long  as 
I  live,  but  not  that.  The  letter  is  the  work  of  some 
one  else.    I  never  wrote  it." 

"Oh,  Colling,"  she  replied,  "I  am  so  glad — so 
very  glad!  But  the  letter — the  letter  is  everything 
after  all.  It  means  everything  to  me.  Then,  if  you 
didn't  write  it — there  is  only  one  other  person  who 
could  possibly  have  done  so," 

"Exactly,"  Collingwood  answered.  "Lady  Att- 
will  and  I  were  the  only  two  people  who  knew  any- 
thing about  the  Paris  trip,  who  could  know  anything 
about  it.  But  the  question  is,  how  on  earth  are  we 
going  to  prove  that  she  wrote  that  letter?  I  do 
not  see  any  possible  way  in  which  it  can  be  done, 
and  I  am  sure  you  don't." 

"If  we  prove  it,"  Peggy  answered,  "do  you  think 
it  will  satisfy  George,  Colling?" 

"Satisfy?"  Collingwood  replied,  seating  himself 
on  the  edge  of  the  writing-table.    "I  should  think  so 

215 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

— he  is  satisfied  already.  But  still,  you  know,  Peggy, 
the  letter  sticks.  Why,  even  Lady  Attwill  knew  that 
there  was  nothing  between  us.  It  was  only  the  ap- 
pearance of  guilt  which  she  schemed  for,  and  that 
letter  gives  it." 

"  "And  if  we  can't  prove  it,  and  the  worst  happens, 
she  hopes  to  marry  George,"  Peggy  said  despair- 
ingly. 

The  bitterness  of  the  thought  was  terrible.  It 
seemed  as  she  sat  there  that  such  treachery  and 
black-heartedness  were  almost  incredible.  Could 
the  woman  who  had  been  her  constant  friend,  who 
had  stayed  with  her  for  months  at  a  time,  on  whom 
she  had  lavished  innumerable  favours,  be  so  base 
and  despicable  of  soul  as  this? 

Collingwood  saw  what  was  passing  in  her  mind, 
and  nodded. 

"That  is  her  game  without  a  doubt,  Peggy,"  he 
said  earnestly. 

"Then  why  has  she  stood  by  me  all  these  months  ? 
Why?  Why?  That  is  what  I  want  to  know," 
Peggy  said. 

Collingwood  smiled  bitterly.  "Why,  don't  you 
see?"  he  said.  "Because  her  devotion  to  you  will 
touch  George,  who  still  loves  you." 

Peggy's  face  changed  in  a  moment  "Oh,  Col- 
ling!"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  inexpressibly 

216 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

pathetic — "oh,  Colling,  do  'you  think  George  does 
love  me  still?" 

"I  know  he  does,  and  that  you  love  him.  My 
dear,  if  I  could  have  won  you  I  should  not  have 
stayed  away  all  these  months;  but  I  owed  you  that 
— and  I  tried  to  play  the  game." 

"Colling,"  she  answered,  in  a  burst  of  warmth 
and  kindliness,  "I  never  liked  you  so  much  as  I  do 
now.  Colling.  I  think  it  is  because  I  feel  I  can 
lean  upon  you  and  trust  you " 

"Poor  little  Butterfly!"  he  answered;  and  there 
were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  this  hardened  man  of 
fashion,  tears  which  sprang  to  his  eyes  in  spite  of 
himself  and  showed  the  deep  tenderness  beneath. 

"But,  Colling,"  Peggy  went  on  anxiously,  "have 
we  any  chance  at  all  of  proving  it  against  her  ?  She 
has  been  awfully  clever  about  it  all,  hasn't  she?" 

Collingwood  shook  his  head  rather  hopelessly. 
"I  doubt  if  we  have  any  chance  at  all,"  he  said. 
"But  there  is  just  one  thing — I  have  just  remem- 
bered it.  I  have  a  sort  of  clue,  and  that  is  one  which 
Dicky  has  just  given  me  when  he  was  here  a  few 
minutes  ago." 

"Oh !  Dicky !"  Peggy  said,  with  a  wan  little  smile. 

"Well,"  Collingwood  resumed,  "of  course  no  one 
would  call  Dicky  intellectual  and  that,  but  I  really 
think  there  is  something  in  what  he  said  this  time. 
I'll  tell  you.    He  has  consulted  an  American  hand- 

217 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

writing  expert  about  the  letters,  and  he  says  that 
they  are  the  work  of  some  one  who  can  write  with 
the  left  hand.  I  know  that  I  can't  write  with  my  left 
hand.    But  what  about  Alice?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Peggy  answered  slowly;  "I  have 
never  heard  of  her  doing  so." 

"Or  using  it  more  than  the  ordinary?"  Colling- 
wood  continued. 

"Yes — stay,"  Peggy  replied  eagerly.  "She  is  ever 
so  good  with  it  at  billiards." 

Collingwood  laughed. 

"Oh,  don't  laugh.  Colling!"  she  continued — 
"please  don't  laugh  at  me — ^but  I  remember  she 
did  tell  me — yes — that  she  broke  her  right  arm 
sleighing  when  she  was  a  girl,  and  that  she  is  almost 
ambidextrous.  It  has  only  just  come  back  to  me. 
She  told  me  many  years  ago." 

Collingwood  jumped  up  from  the  table  alert  and 
excited. 

"That  is  something — ^by  Jove!  it  is,"  he  cried. 
"Tell  me,  where  is  she?" 

"She  has  only  gone  upstairs  for  a  moment," 
Peggy  said.  "I  am  expecting  her  down  every  mo- 
ment." 

"By  the  way,  Peggy,"  Collingwood  asked,  "where 
does  she  write  her  letters  and  things  when  she  is 
here  with  you?" 

2l8 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"She  always  writes  there,"  Peggy  answered, 
pointing  to  the  table,  "where  you  have  been  sitting." 

"Look  here,"  ColHngwood  said  decisively,  "when 
she  comes,  leave  her  alone  with  me.  I'll  do  what  I 
can,  I'll  tackle  her.  You  had  better  not  be  here 
at  all." 

"But,  Colling,  can't  I  help?"  Peggy  asked.  "I 
think  I  might  be  of  use,  though  of  course  it  will  be 
dreadfully  unpleasant.  But,  for  my  own  sake,  I 
must  stick  at  nothing  now." 

"No,  Peggy,"  he  replied  firmly.  "I  feel  I  can 
manage  this  much  better  myself.  Look  here — ^you 
go  out  upon  the  terrace  again.  I  will  just  come 
with  you  and  settle  you  in  your  chair — how  tired 
you  look! — and  then  a  mauvais  quart  d'heure  for 
Alice,  if  she  ever  had  one  in  her  life." 

"But  it  may  not  be  true  after  all,"  Peggy  said, 
as  they  walked  together  towards  tlie  long  windows. 

He  shook  his  head  at  that.  "It  must  be  true," 
he  said;  "no  one  else  could  have  done  it;  and  what 
you  have  just  told  me,  and  what  Dicky  said,  make 
it  conclusive  to  my  mind." 

Tliey  passed  behind  the  curtains  together,  and 
there  was  the  sound  of  a  chair  being  moved  over 
the  tessellated  floor. 


219 


THE  LAST  CHAPTER 

Lady  Attwill  was  upstairs  in  her  bedroom. 

It  was  very  large,  and  luxuriously  furnished,  with 
Chippendale  chairs  and  Adams  ceiling,  while  the 
walls  were  covered  with  a  paper  of  white  upon 
which,  here  and  there,  tiny  apple  blossoms  of  pink 
and  grass-green  were  indicated. 

Despite  its  size,  the  room  felt  close,  and  Alice 
Attwill  had  thrown  open  all  the  windows  to  the 
summer  afternoon. 

The  cooler  air,  scented  with  flowers,  poured  into 
the  place,  but  she  seemed  to  notice  nothing  of  it. 

She  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with  her 
feline  grace — for  this  was  natural  to  her,  and  no 
careful  pose  or  cultivated  mannerism.  Her  lovely 
head  was  bent  a  little  forward  as  she  walked,  and 
the  hands  which  were  clasped  behind  her  slim  waist 
folded  and  unfolded  themselves  nervously. 

The  face  itself  was  very  white,  the  eyes  glistened, 
the  lips  twitched  nervously,  and  there  was  about  her 
an  atmosphere  of  terror. 

She  made  it  herself,  this  beautiful  woman  walking 
up  and  down  a  beautiful  room;  but  fear  there  was 

220 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

in  that  quiet  place,  and  it  did  not  come  in  there  from 
the  open  windows,  but  radiated  out  from  a  guilty 
mind  and  a  wildly  pulsating  heart.  Every  now  and 
again,  as  she  walked  up  and  down,  Alice  Attwill 
moistened  her  lips  with  her  tongue  and  glanced  at 
the  travelling-clock  covered  with  red  leather  which 
stood  upon  the  mantlepiece. 

At  last  she  stopped  with  one  thoughtful  glance 
at  the  clock. 

"It'll  be  all  right  now,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  am 
sure  they  must  be  beginning  to  suspect  me.  Fool 
that  I  was!  Why,  every  novel  and  almost  every 
play  has  this  question  of  the  blotting-book  in  it. 
It  is  such  a  simple  device,  and  yet  in  real  life  how 
often  it  does  happen !  Here  am  I  confronted  with 
the  worst  crisis  in  my  whole  life,  simply  because  I 
forgot  the  blotting-book." 

Clenching  her  teeth  she  quietly  left  the  room,  de- 
scended the  wide  Georgian  stairs  into  the  hall,  and 
opened  the  door  of  the  drawing-room. 

She  peered  cautiously  into  the  room,  now  lit  up 
by  clusters  of  electric  lights. 

Satisfied  that  no  one  was  there,  she  closed  the 
door  very  quietly,  and  with  silent,  cat-like  steps 
walked  up  to  the  writing-table. 

Again,  as  her  hand  fell  upon  the  blotting-book, 
she   looked   round   in   an   agony   of  apprehension. 

221 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Then,  opening  it  hurriedly,  she  searched  among  the 
leaves  with  a  puzzled  brow. 

Some  of  the  leaves  were  heavily  blotted  and  no 
writing  upon  them  was  wholly  distinguishable,  while 
others  only  bore  a  few  well-defined  imprints. 

Her  slender,  trembling  fingers  turned  over  the 
leaves  in  an  agony  of  anxiety,  but — either  she  was 
too  agitated  or  too  inexperienced — she  was  unable 
to  find  what  she  sought. 

Suddenly  a  thought  came  to  her. 

The  mirror! — yes,  that  was  the  thing.  By  the 
aid  of  the  mirror  she  would  be  able  to  identify  the 
sheet  she  wanted  at  once.  She  hurried  up  to  the 
fireplace. 

Above  it  was  an  oval  mirror  framed  in  wood 
which  had  been  painted  white,  and,  shaking  ex- 
ceedingly, hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she  held 
up  the  heavy  blotter  with  the  paper  facing  the  mir- 
ror, and  slowly  turned  over  the  thick  white  sheets. 

While  she  was  doing  this,  with  a  perfectly  livid 
face,  she  heard  the  faint  sound  of  an  advancing  foot- 
step. 

It  was  at  the  very  moment  when  she  thought  she 
had  discovered  what  she  wanted,  and  with  twitching 
fingers  was  about  to  tear  it  out  from  the  book. 

The  sound  of  the  step  came  from  behind  the 
curtains  which  hung  over  the  windows  leading  to 
the  terrace. 

222 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Lady  Attwill  almost  bounded  back  to  the  writing- 
table  and  put  down  the  blotter  upon  it. 

She  had  hardly  done  so,  and  was  actually  closing 
the  book,  when  the  curtains  parted  with  a  soft  swish 
and  Collingwood  came  into  the  room. 

He  came  in  jauntily  and  easily  enough,  but  there 
was  something  in  his  face  which  made  Alice  Attwill 
give  a  little  startled  gasp  of  alarm  and  despair. 

"Writing  letters,  Alice  ?"  Collingwood  said  easily, 
though  there  was  a  chill  in  his  voice  which  sounded 
like  the  note  of  doom  in  the  miserable  woman's  ears. 

"I  have  finished  writing,"  she  said,  stammering 
— "just  finished." 

Collingwood  came  up  to  her  without  removing 
his  eyes  from  hers.  He  came  slowly  up,  with  a 
steady,  persistent  stare,  magnetic,  horrible. 

"Just  got  up  from  writing,  eh?  That's  lucky!" 
he  said.  "I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  Alice — 
by  the  way,  let  me  post  your  letters." 

"Please  don't  trouble,"  she  faltered. 

"No  trouble,  I  assure  you,"  he  answered,  his 
voice  becoming  more  cold,  dangerous,  and  menacing 
than  ever.  "I  assure  you  it  is  no  trouble,  Alice. 
There  can't  even  be  a  great  weight  of  letters  for  me 
to  take  to  the  post — ^because,  you  see,  Peggy  and  I 
were  here  until  about  two  minutes  ago." 

There  was  a  revolving  chair  of  green  leather  in 
front  of  the  writing-table.     Lady  Attwill  sank  into 

223 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

it.  She  felt  as  if  the  whole  room,  with  all  its  con- 
tents, was  spinning  round  her  with  horrible  rapidity. 
She  sank  into  the  chair,  unable  to  stand  longer;  but, 
even  as  she  did  so,  one  last  despairing  gleam  of  hope 
prompted  her  to  make  an  effort  to  show  that  she  was 
still  unconcerned  and  sitting  down  in  a  natural  way. 

"I  hardly  expected  to  see  you  here,"  she  said  in 
a  rather  high,  staccato  voice,  the  words  coming  from 
her  one  by  one  as  if  each  separate  word  was  pro- 
duced with  great  difficulty. 

"Indeed?"  Collingwood  asked.    "And  why  not?" 

The  fact  that  she  was  sitting  down,  that  she  had 
the  arms  of  the  chair  to  hold,  that  she  was  some- 
where, seemed  to  give  Alice  Attwill  more  courage. 

In  a  voice  which  was  still  tremulous,  but  in  which 
an  ugly  note  of  temper  was  beginning  to  displace 
the  abject  indications  of  fear,  she  answered  him. 

She  pushed  her  head  a  little  forward,  and  her 
eyes  shone  with  malice. 

"I  should  have  thought  that  the  revelations  of  this 
afternoon  would  have " 

Collingwood  recognised  the  change  of  attitude  in 
a  moment. 

"Closed  these  doors  to  those  who  planned  the  trip 
to  Paris — ^yes?" 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  the  trip  to  Paris,"  she  said. 

Collingwood  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Because 
we  were  partners  in  that,  of  course,"  he  replied. 

224 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"Partners!"  she  cried  shrilly.  "I  knew  nothing 
about  it.  It  was  you  who  gave  the  orders  to  the 
porter  and  booked  the  rooms — I  don't  come  in  any- 
where !" 

Collingwood  folded  his  arms  and  stood  with  his 
feet  somewhat  apart,  looking  down  upon  her  with 
a  face  which,  in  its  contempt  and  strength,  once 
more  drove  her  into  an  extremity  of  fear. 

When  he  spoke  again  his  voice  had  lost  its  bitter- 
ness and  contempt,  but  it  had  become  harsh  and  im- 
perative. It  was  the  voice  of  a  bullying  counsel  in 
the  courts — the  voice  in  which  a  low  man  speaks  to 
a  servant. 

"That  is  your  game,  is  it?"  he  said.  "You  never 
knew  of  the  trip  to  Paris  ?" 

The  woman  was  spurred  up  to  answer.  She  met 
his  voice  with  one  precisely  in  the  same  key;  it  was 
a  voice  a  succession  of  unfortunate  lady's-maids 
knew  very  well. 

"Absolutely  nohting,"  she  said;  "where  as  you 
— your  guilt,  my  friend,  is  clear,  transparently 
clear." 

She  nodded  two  or  three  times  to  emphasise  her 
assertion,  and  by  this  time  her  composure  had  re- 
turned to  her  and  she  was  ready  for  anything. 

Collingw^ood,  who  had  been  watching  her  with 
the  most  intense  scrutiny,  had  followed  with  perfect 
clearness  the  changes  in  her  voice  and  attitude.    He 

225 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

now  knew  where  he  was.  The  bluff  was  over,  he 
was  about  to  play  his  hand. 

More  particularly  than  anything  else  his  mind, 
intensely  alert  and  active  at  this  supreme  moment, 
noticed  that  Alice  Attwill  had  wheeled  round  upon 
her  chair  and  seemed  in  a  most  marked  way  to  be 
interposing  herself  between  him  and  the  writing- 
table. 

It  was  as  though  some  precious  possession  lay 
there  of  which  she  feared  she  would  be  robbed. 

Feeling  certain  now  of  the  woman's  guilt,  he  said : 
"Perhaps  you  are  also  going  to  suggest  that  I  wrote 
that  dastardly  letter?" 

Lady  Attwill  sneered.  "One  of  us  obviously  must 
have  written  it,"  she  said,  "and  your  motive — well, 
it  is  pretty  clear,  isn't  it?" 

"And  yours,"  he  said  —  "and  isn't  yours  clear 
also?" 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  asked,  with  a  toss  of 
her  head. 

He  bent  forward,  gazing  at  her  with  an  almost 
deadly  look  of  hate. 

"Look  here,"  he  said:  "don't  you  hope  to  marry 
Admaston  if  Peggy  loses  this  case?" 

She  was  frightened — obviously  very  frightened; 
but  she  did  her  best  to  throw  it  off. 

"My  dear  Colling,"  she  said  in  a  light  and  airy 
manner,  "you  are  so  imbued  with  the  remarkable 

226 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

excellence  of  Sir  Robert  FyflFe's  methods  that  you 
are  imitating  him.  But  you  are  doing  it  so  badly. 
Colling — so  extremely  badly !" 

His  face  did  not  change  in  the  slightest.  It  re- 
mained as  set  and  firm  as  before,  absolutely  unin- 
fluenced by  what  she  was  saying. 

"Isn't  it  true  that  you  hope  to  marry  George 
Admaston?"  he  repeated  in  exactly  the  same  tone. 

She  lifted  her  pretty  left  hand  in  the  air  and 
snapped  her  fingers  in  a  gesture  full  of  mingled 
insolence  and  provocation. 

"Why  should  I  satisfy  your  curiosity?"  she  said. 

Again  the  man,  intent  upon  one  great  purpose, 
absolutely  not  to  be  deterred  from  it  or  to  be  in- 
fluenced in  any  way  by  what  she  was  saying,  re- 
peated his  query. 

"How  can  you  explain  that  letter?"  he  said,  in 
the  insistent  tone  of  a  judge.  "Who  else  could 
have  written  it  except  you  or  me?" 

Her  eyelids  fluttered.  She  looked  up  at  him 
quickly.  "I  don't  attempt  to  explain  it,"  she  said; 
"but  I  certainly  agree  with  you  that  one  of  us  must 
have  written  it — any  fool  can  see  that;  but  which 
of  us?" 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  looked  him 
straightly  in  the  face,  defiant  and  at  bay  at  last. 

"But  which  of  us?"  she  repeated.  "That's  the 
point  upon  v/hich  we  shall  differ,  Colling." 

227 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "You  mean  tliat  you  will  en- 
deavour to  father  this  cowardly  trick  upon  me?" 

Alice  Attwill  smiled  bitterly.  "The  public  will 
judge,"  she  said.  "Ever  since  that  night  have  I 
not  been  in  constant  attendance  here,  her  devoted 
and  trusted  friend? — while  you — I  thought  you  had 
been  forbidden  the  house." 

"That's  a  lie,"  Collingwood  said  sharply. 

"It  is  quite  unnecessary  to  become  abusive,"  she 
went  on,  her  voice  gaining  confidence  for  a  moment 
and  her  manner  becoming  infinitely  more  assured. 
"You  are  in  a  very  tight  corner,  and  the  sooner  you 
recognise  the  fact  the  better  it  will  be  for  you." 

"You  think  you  can  threaten  me?"  Collingwood 
asked  quietly. 

"I  know  my  cards,"  she  replied,  "and  what  I  can 
do  with  them.  You  needn't  try  to  bluff  me.  Colling, 
for  I  know  your  cards  too.  Even  if  I  did  write  that 
letter — ^how  can  you  ever  prove  it  ?  You  can  assert 
it,  but  who  will  believe  you — you  who  stand  con- 
victed of  decoying  your  friend's  wife  to  Paris  to 
attempt  her  seduction?  .  .  ." 

He  winced  at  that.  Even  in  his  present  mood  of 
penitence  and  help,  it  was  a  palpable  hit. 

"With  your  assistance,"  he  said,  and  that  was  all. 

She  pressed  her  momentary  triumph.  "So  you 
will  assert,"  she  said.  .  .  .  "But  I  shall  deny  it — 
and  there  is  nothing  but  your  word.     It  will  be 

228 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

suggested  to  you — by  Peggy's  counsel,  if  not  by 
Admaston's — that  you  wrote  the  letter  which  has 
caused  all  the  bother.  You  will  try  to  put  it  on  to 
me " 

He  interrupted  her  quickly.  "You  will  never  dare 
to  deny  it,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  conviction. 

"My  dear,  simple  friend,"  she  answered,  "why 
not?  I  loved  George  Admaston,  as  you  have  said. 
Do  you  think  I  shall  sacrifice  myself  and  save  you? 
You  can  make  your  mind  easy  on  that  score.  No, 
my  dear  Colling,  there  is  only  one  way  out.  To- 
morrow your  counsel  will  have  to  say  that  in  the 
face  of  the  evidence  to-day  he  can  contest  the  case 
no  further.  Then  you  will  not  go  into  the  witness- 
box." 

"Not  go  into  the  witness-box?"  he  asked. 

"Admaston  will  get  his  divorce,"  she  went  on  in 
a  final  voice,  but  one  in  which  a  note  of  conciliation 
had  crept.  "You  will  marry  Peggy — I  shall  marry 
Admaston — and  no  one  will  know  about  the  letters. 
But  if  you  dare  to  fight,  you  will  leave  the  court 
dishonoured.  Peggy  will  never  look  at  you.  You 
take  my  advice.  Colling,  and  marry  the  girl  you 
love,  and  don't  try  to  interfere  with  my  plans,  just 
when  victory  is  assured." 

The  note  of  conciliation  in  her  voice  stung  every 
fibre  of  decency,  every  sense  of  honour  in  him.  He 
raised  his  eyebrows  in  extreme  contempt  and  sur- 

229 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

prise.     "You  must  have  a  pretty  poor  opinion  of 
me,"  he  said. 

"The  highest,  my  dear  Colling,"  she  replied ;  "but 
the  situation  is  just  a  little  too  big  for  you." 

"We  shall  see,"  he  answered.  "You  have  been 
very  frank  with  me.  I  gather  that  you  don't  deny 
your  authorship  of  that  infamous  letter." 

Her  face,  and  indeed  her  whole  manner,  had  by 
now  become  almost  indifferent.  "I  am  not  called 
upon  to  deny  anything  that  cannot  be  proved,"  she 
said.  "You  have  heard  this  afternoon  that  the 
experts  have  entirely  failed  to  identify  the  writing. 
How  did  you  manage  to  deceive  them.  Colling? 
Still,  I  suppose  it  is  not  very  difficult  to  trick  a 
handwriting  expert." 

"Don't  be  too  disrespectful  to  experts  yet,  my  lady, 
I  have  a  notion  that  a  report  I  have  just  received 
from  an  American  expert  may  give  you  food  for 
thought.  After  all,  if  you  hadn't  been  afraid  of 
these  experts  you  wouldn't  have  written  that  second 
letter  three  days  ago." 

She  glared  at  him.  "Well,  what  does  your 
Yankee  say?"  she  asked, 

"He  has  proved  conclusively  that  I  could  not  have 
written  the  letter." 

At  that  she  jumped  up  from  her  seat,  still  keeping 
herself  between  the  writing-table  and  him.  "What 
do  you  mean?"  she  said. 

230 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Collingwood  dealt  his  trump  card.  "I  mean,"  he 
said,  "that  since  you  have  finished  writing  your  own 
letters,  you  will  have  no  objection  to  my  writing 
there  for  a  moment." 

His  voice  was  so  pregnant  with  meaning,  so 
fraught  with  decision,  that  Alice  Attwill  slunk  away 
from  the  table,  trembling,  as  Collingwood  seated 
himself  in  the  writing-chair. 

"Writing  what?"  she  asked  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"A  confession "  he  said. 

"A  confession?" 

" — Which  you  will  sign.  I  intend  before  I  leave 
this  room  to  have  from  you  a  signed  confession  that 
you  wrote  that  letter." 

"You  are  proposing  to  make  a  long  stay,"  she 
said,  slowly  and  venomously. 

Collingwood  did  not  answer  her  at  all.  He  took 
a  sheet  of  paper  and  wrote  a  few  sentences  upon  it 
in  a  firm,  bold  handwriting. 

When  he  had  finished  he  held  it  up  to  her.  "Will 
you  read  it  through?"  he  said. 

With  the  utmost  carelessness  she  bent  forward 
over  the  writing-table.  Her  manner  was  that  of 
one  who  was  reading  some  casual  note. 

"I  have  done  so,"  she  said  at  length. 

Collingwood  fell  into  her  mood.  "Now,"  he  said, 
"if  I  had  your  signature  to  that,  par  exemple,  there 

231 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

would  be  an  end  of  Admaston  versus  Admaston  and 
Collingwood,  wouldn't  there?" 

Alice  Attwill  smiled.  "That  is  obvious  enough," 
she  said. 

Collingwood  took  the  paper  and  opened  the 
blotting-book,  while  Lady  Attwill  walked  towards 
the  fireplace. 

She  walked  away  with  the  same  assumed  air  of 
indifference,  but,  when  she  heard  the  heavy  leather- 
and-silver  cover  fall  upon  the  table,  she  looked  round 
and  watched  the  man  intently. 

She  saw  him  blot  the  confession  upon  a  blank 
sheet  at  the  beginning  of  the  book,  and  then  with 
the  utmost  care  and  deliberation  turn  over  each 
separate  leaf,  scrutinising  it  like  a  man  who  looks 
at  something  through  a  microscope. 

Suddenly  one  page  seemed  to  strike  his  attention. 
He  smoothed  it  out,  pulled  the  blotter  closer  towards 
him,  and  took  from  his  pocket  photographs  of  the 
famous  letters  in  the  case. 

He  put  one  of  the  photographs  upon  a  leaf  of  the 
blotter  and  compared  them  carefully.  Then  he  took 
a  small  glass  from  his  pocket  and  examined  the 
photograph  and  the  page  of  the  blotter  with  that. 

When  he  had,  apparently,  satisfied  himself,  he 
looked  round  with  a  white,  stern  face  to  where  the 
defiant  but  trembling  woman  was  standing  by  the 
fireplace. 

232 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  moment.  It  was  broken 
by  Lady  Attwill  saying,  "Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

"Yes,"  ColHngwood  repHed;  "you  can  bring  me 
that  looking-glass  from  that  small  table  there." 

She  looked  at  him  without  saying  a  word, 

"You  don't  seem  very  eager,"  he  said.  "But 
there  is  an  excellent  mirror  over  the  fireplace."'    - 

At  that,  as  if  hypnotised,  she  went  up  to  the  little 
table  by  the  piano  and  took  up  a  small  Italian  mirror 
framed  in  ivory  and  silver. 

She  gave  it  to  him.  "Well,"  she  asked,  "have 
you  solved  the  mystery?" 

"Wait!"  he  replied.  He  took  the  mirror  in  one 
hand,  propping  up  the  blotter  with  its  back  towards 
him,  and  looking  intently  into  the  glass. 

After  a  moment  or  two  he  looked  up.  "You 
should  be  more  careful  where  you  blot  your  letters," 
he  said  simply.  "You  will  notice  that  the  impres- 
sion upon  the  blotting-paper  is  not  complete — 
though  they  obviously  tally." 

Speechless  with  terror,  she  made  a  sudden  snatch 
at  the  sheet  in  the  blotter  which  she  had  already 
begun  to  tear  out  when  his  entrance  disturbed  her. 

He  caught  her  by  the  wrist.  "No,"  he  said,  very 
quietly  and  sternly.  "I  thought  you  would  do  that. 
I  saw  you  trying  to  do  it  when  I  came  in  just  now. 
Now,  look  here — look  at  the  photograph  and  at  the 

233 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

representation  of  your  writing  in  the  mirror.  Have 
you  any  doubt  that  the  impression  upon  the  blotting- 
paper  is  the  impression  made  by  the  blotting  of  that 
letter?" 

"And  if  it  is,"  she  said,  in  one  last  faint  effort, 
"what  does  that  prove?  Why  should  not  you  have 
written  it  and  blotted  it?" 

"Because,  my  dear  Alice,"  he  replied,  "I  have  not 
been  in  this  house  until  this  afternoon  for  six 
months.  Listen!  To-day  the  judge  dropped  a  re- 
mark about  the  importance  of  finding  the  paper  on 
which  this  letter  was  blotted.  You  alone  knew  where 
it  was.  Very  well,  in  the  sequence  of  events,  Pauline 
found  you  here — the  first  moment  the  room  was 
empty — with  a  cock-and-bull  story  about  your  bag. 
A  few  minutes  later  I,  having  heard  this  from  Paul- 
ine, find  you  in  the  act  of  destroying  this  damning 
evidence — see,  it's  half  torn  out  already.  Come,  the 
game's  up." 

Aristocrat  as  she  was,  something  low,  vulgar,  and 
malignantly  mocking  came  out  upon  Lady  Attwill's 
face  as  Collingwood  said  this. 

"Is  it?"  she  said.  "Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of 
you  and  your  game  of  bluff?  You  have  forgotten 
the  important  link  in  your  chain.  How  do  you  ex- 
plain the  discrepancy  in  the  writing?  That  writing 
is  not  mine." 

"Isn't  it?"  he  asked  quietly. 
234 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

"No !"  she  almost  shouted.  "A  pretty  conspiracy ! 
" — to  damn  me  and  save  Peggy  Admaston.  Why 
shouldn't  Pauline  have  written  it?" 

Up  to  this  he  had  listened  to  her  with  some  pa- 
tience. Now  his  face  blazed  at  her  for  a  moment. 
He  sat  down  in  the  writing-chair,  pulling  it  up  to 
the  table  as  he  did  so.  "I'll  show  you,"  he  said. 
"Sit  down  there." 

She  looked  at  him  defiantly. 

"Sit  down  there,"  he  said  again,  and  she  did  so. 
"Now  take  the  pen  and  write  what  I  dictate,"  he 
went  on. 

He  began  to  dictate.  "  'Please  destroy  the  other 
letter  .  .  .'  " 

He  leant  over  the  table,  tapping  gently  upon  it 
with  his  knuckles. 

"No !  the  other  hand,  please,"  he  said. 

The  woman  almost  fell  over  the  table. 

"With  my  left  hand?"  she  gasped.  "What  on 
earth  do  you  mean?  I  can't  write  with  my  left 
hand." 

"My  expert  thinks  you  can,"  he  said  sternly. 
"Come — write;  or  would  you  prefer  to  write  to- 
morrow in  court?" 

She  jumped  up,  and  hysteria  mastered  her. 

"I  won't  write!"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  which  was 
hardly  human.  "Neither  here  nor  in  court!  You 
can't  make  me  .  .  .  the  judge  can't  make  me!" 

235 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

Collingwood  punctuated  her  shrill  remarks  with 
gentle  taps  of  his  firm  hand  upon  the  table.  "You 
shall  write  to-morrow  with  all  London  looking  on; 
they'll  know  I  could  not  have  done  it — this  book 
shows  that.  They'll  hear  how  you  tried  to  tear  out 
the  page." 

"They  won't  believe  you !"  she  gasped. 

"They'll  believe  the  evidence  of  Pauline,"  he 
went  on  calmly.  "They'll  hear  from  Peggy  how 
you  broke  your  arm  and  learnt  to  use  your  left  hand. 
Every  newspaper  in  England  will  be  full  of  it.  TJiis 
is  not  the  first  time  you've  written  with  your  left 
hand ;  there'll  be  other  specimens  somewhere — some 
other  witness  will  be  forthcoming.  You  have  been 
very  clever,  but  the  cleverest  of  people  like  you 
bungle  in  the  end.     You've  got  to  do  it,  Alice!" 

Once  more  she  sank  down  in  the  chair. 

Her  face  was  ghastly.  "No!"  was  all  that  she 
could  say. 

"Believe  me,"  he  went  on  more  calmly  and  more 
kindly — "believe  me,  you  had  better  write  now! 
Society  may  never  know — Admaston  may  be  gen- 
erous.    Come!    Write!    And  do  it  quickly." 

Absolutely  broken  and  submissive,  Lady  Attwill 
took  up  the  pen  in  her  left  hand  and  began  to  write 
to  Collingwood's  dictation. 

"  'Please  destroy  the  other  letter  .  .  .'  "  he  began. 

She  wrote  the  first  word,  and  then  looked  up  at 
236 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

him  with  a  face  which  was  a  white  wedge  of 
hate. 

"Quickly,  please,"  he  said,  tapping  his  foot  upon 
the  carpet.    "Now,  or  to-morrow  with  all  London." 

The  wretched  woman  bent  down  once  more  to 
her  shameful  task. 

"  *.  .  .  and  this,'  "  he  went  on,  "  'and  save  an  old 
servant  who  honours  the  family  .  .  .'  " 

Again  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"Quickly!"  he  said  imperatively,  rapping  his 
knuckles  upon  the  table.     "Quickly ! — or " 

Cowed  and  subdued,  she  wrote  again.  "  *.  .  . 
from  the  anger  of  Mrs.  Admaston,'  "  came  the  cool, 
dictating  voice. 

She  finished,  and  as  she  did  so  her  head  fell  upon 
her  arms  and  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  hysterical  sobs 
— shaking,  convulsed,  in  a  terrible  downfall  of  re- 
morse and  shame. 

Suddenly — as  Collingwood  held  the  precious 
paper  in  his  hand  and  looked  with  a  certain  com- 
passion at  his  old  friend  and  companion  of  so  many 
years,  whom  he  had  tortured  so  dreadfully — a  high, 
joyous  voice  burst  into  the  room. 

It  was  Peggy  calling. 

The  curtains  which  led  to  the  terrace  were  pulled 
aside  and  she  ran  into  the  drawing-room. 

Her  face  was  radiant. 

"Colling!  Colling!"  she  cried.  "George  is 
237 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

here!"     She  hurried  up  to  ColHngwood,   looking 
for  a  moment  rather  strangely  at  Alice  Attwill. 

Greorge  Admaston,  big,  burly,  and  with  all  the 
weariness  of  the  past  weeks  sponged  and  smoothed 
from  his  face,  followed  her  into  the  drawing-room. 

"Hullo,  Colling,"  he  said  rather  shyly,  but  with 
real  geniality  in  his  voice. 

Colling^ood  ignored  the  outstretched  hand. 
"Wait  first,  please,"  he  said.  "Lady  Attwill  has 
written  you  another  copy  of  the  letter  she  wrote 
three  days  ago."  He  handed  the  confession  to 
Admaston. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room  as  Admas- 
ton scrutinised  the  confession. 

Then  he  went  up  to  Lady  Attwill,  crouching 
over  the  table  as  she  was,  and  put  his  hand  not  un- 
kindly on  her  shoulder.  "Good  Grod!"  he  said. 
"Alice — ^why  did  you?" 

A  lovely  tear-stained  face  looked  up  into  the  room. 

A  broken  and  unhappy  voice  sobbed  out  into  the 
silence,  "Let  me  go;  let  me  go,  I  say!" 

Admaston  gently  removed  his  hand.  There  was 
a  swish  of  skirts,  one  deep  sob,  and  then  the  door 
closed  behind  Alice  Attwill. 

Peggy  went  up  to  her  husband  and  clung  lov- 
ingly to  his  arm. 

She  looked  at  ColHngwood,  "Colling,"  she  said, 
"how  on  earth  did  you  find  out?" 

2zS 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

CoIImgwood  pointed  to  the  blotter.  "Look  there," 
he  said. 

Peggy  and  Admaston,  still  clinging  together, 
went  up  to  the  writing-table  and  stared  as  if  fas- 
cinated at  the  fatal  and  decisive  page. 

"Poor  Alice!"  CoUingwood  said.  "I  suppose  it 
is  because  I  have  been  a  bit  of  a  blackguard  myself 
that  I  can't  help  feeling  sorry  for  her.  Perhaps, 
Admaston,  you  will  find  it  in  your  heart,  when  the 
great  case  is  withdrawn  to-morrow,  to  let  her  down 
as  lightly  as  possible." 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  said  in- 
a  quiet  voice,  "I  think  in  her  heart  she  really  loved 
you,  don't  you  know." 

Admaston  nodded. 

"Yes,  yes ;  I  see,"  he  said.    "I  will  do  what  I  can." 

CoUingwood,  realising  that  he  had  been  emotional, 
pulled  himself  together  with  immense  aplomb.  "It 
must  be  a  comforting  and  flattering  reflection  that, 
but  for  the  fit  of  nerves  which  caused  Alice  to  write 
that  second  letter  three  days  ago,  there  is  probably 
not  a  judge  nor  jury  in  the  world  which  would  have 
refused  to  make  you  miserable  for  life,  Admaston." 

"You  are  right,  Colling,"  he  said;  "but  at  the 
moment  when  no  judge  nor  jury  would  have 
doubted  her  guilt — then,  for  the  first  time,  I  knew 
in  my  heart  she  was  innocent." 

CoUingwood  had  listened  to  this,  but  had  also 

239 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

been    moving    slowly    towards    the    door    of    the 
drawing-room. 

"But  you,  Colling "  Peggy  said. 

Collingwood's  hand  was  upon  the  door.  "Never 
mind  about  me,"  he  said.  "Peggy,  I  did  a  rotten 
thing  because  I  cared  for  you,  but  I've  tried  to  play 
the  game  since  for  the  same  reason;  and  if  George 
can  really  forgive  me  for  just  the  same  reason " 

He  stopped,  looking  with  a  wan,  pathetic,  but 
very  tender  face  at  the  two  who  stood  there  clinging 
to  each  other. 

Peggy  looked  up  into  her  husband's  face. 
"George!"  she  said  quietly. 

" — I  think  I'll  go  on  playing  it,"  Collingwood 
ended. 

Admaston  did  not  look  at  Collingwood,  but  he 
looked  down  at  his  wife.  Then  he  lifted  his  head 
and  smiled  with  a  sort  of  grave  kindness  at  the  man 
by  the  door. 

"I  think  I  can  forgive  you  anything  to-day. 
Colling,"  he  said. 

Collingwood  half  turned  the  handle.  "Good-bye, 
then,  little  Butterfly,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a 
dreadful  pain  in  his  voice. 

Peggy  looked  up  into  her  husband's  face. 

What  she  saw  there  satisfied  her. 

She  left  him  and  walked  shyly  towards  Colling- 
wood and  held  out  her  hand. 

240 


"He  caught  her  in  his  arms  —   in  his  strong  arms." 


A  BUTTERFLY  ON  THE  WHEEL 

He  took  it,  bowed  over  it  as  if  to  kiss  it,  refrained, 
and  then  opened  the  door. 

"Your  wing-s  are  not  really  broken — not  really," 
he  said  in  a  voice  which  was  absolutely  broken. 

There  was  a  sound  of  the  soft  closing  of  a  door — 
a  little  click  as  it  fell  into  place. 

Peggy  ran  back  to  her  husband  and  put  her  hands 
upon  his  shoulders. 

"My  husband!"  she  said. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms — in  his  strong  arms. 

"Little  Peggy!"  he  answered. 

"George !"  she  said.    "I  have  wanted  you  so  I" 

But  both  Mr.  Roderick  Colling^ood  and  Lady 
Alice  Attwill  dined  alone  with  their  thoughts  that 
night 


THE  END 


241 


p 


^sam^^^SMtSmn 


I 


/V    000  128  137     7 


